What makes a Slayer
by onlyonechairleft
Summary: Dean finds a little something extra on a hunt. Set pre-series for both SPN and BTVS. Rated for language and mentions of child abuse.
1. What makes a Family

Disclaimer: I don't own either SPN or BTVS. *Tears for me*

A/N: This ficlet just wouldn't get out of my head until I wrote it down. There will possibly be other chapters added over time, but this won't be a full-length fic, methinks. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it anyway. :)

* * *

Dean was fifteen when he first met her- a tiny, scared ten year old, glaring fiercely at him from inside the storage cupboard in the dirty apartment. John had sent him to find her- the vengeful spirit that had killed her mother the previous evening could return for the child.

They hadn't even known she existed, until the spirit had mentioned her by name- Faith. At first, the mentions of _Faith_ had been confusing, until Dean had realized the skeevy old woman ghost was talking about a person and not, like, religion or whatever.

There had been no sign of her in the apartment when the police had investigated; no sign of her when the Winchesters had broken in. None of the neighbors had mentioned the child.

He was only fifteen, but his heart clenched when he finally found her, hiding in the dark storage room, clinging to herself. Her eyes were huge in her face, and Dean was certain he had never seen a hungrier looking child. They may have had no home and no money, but Dean never let his brother go hungry, and Sam wasn't much older than this kid.

He dropped to his knees in the doorway, not taking his eyes from her face. Her gaze was guarded; wary and afraid.

"Hey kid. My name is Dean. You're Faith, right?" She nodded once, unblinking. "Were you here when your Mom died?" She nodded again, a brief glimpse of _something_ flashing through her eyes faster than he could quantify it. "Were you scared?"

He'd expected her to nod, but she shook her head slowly. She must have understood his confusion, because whatever showed on his face prompted her to speak.

"Gamma was here. She hurt Mom, but she promised she wouldn't hurt me." Her voice was tight and rough from disuse. She shifted a little in her seat on the floor and Dean caught sight of the yellowing bruises on her bare arms, and the dried blood on her neck and he understood, suddenly, the motivations of the vengeful Grandmother that his Dad was currently digging up.

"Gamma took care of you?" The spirit was sixty years dead- too long dead by far to have been the child's actual Grandmother. But he'd heard weirder than Supernatural protectors for innocent, abused, kids. She just nodded again.

"Gamma told me you were here. She told me I had to find Faith." He'd thought she was a religious nutjob- not a stretch, really- but as soon as he had promised to find Faith, she had stopped throwing his dad around the cemetery, and he'd rushed right back to the scene of the murder. Is it still murder if it's to protect a tiny child from an abusive parent? "So, what say you come out of there and we'll get your things together and get out of here?" He kept his voice low and calm and forced a smile onto his face. She smiled, just a tiny little grin that lit up her whole face, and crawled out of the darkened closet, dragging a battered backpack with her.

"I got my things here." On the second try, her voice was stronger.

By the time he got back to the motel, his heart was in his stomach. No-one had tried to stop him from taking her- none of the neighbors even met his eyes as he led her out of the building and no-one stopped him from putting her into the passenger seat of the Impala and driving her back to his motel room. It made him sick to think that the child was so unknown; so unloved, that even her own neighbors didn't know her, or worse, didn't care.

He pushed her into the bathroom and told her to shower, showing her the soap and shampoo and offering one of his tee shirts (it was even clean) and a pair of Sammy's old pajama bottoms to wear instead of the smelly, dirty clothes she was wearing. He doubted that anything he'd find in the backpack would be in any better condition.

She locked herself into the bathroom and he busied himself with the stove. She was starving and Sam would be home from school soon. John, too, would be back shortly, assuming that the crazy old lady ghost had kept her word. He didn't have space in his brain to worry about his dad, though. His thoughts were all locked up with the tiny child in the bathroom.

She emerged clean and smelling of generic, cheap shampoo. Clean and sitting at the small table inhaling mac and cheese, she was starting to look a lot like Sam- wide eyes, dark hair and a tiny, slight frame. The comparison was not helpful for Dean.

They didn't talk much- he fed her, she watched him as he cleaned up the room, sorting dirty laundry and washing dishes. When she had eaten her fill, she began to move awkwardly around the room but he forced himself to not watch her- like trying to train a wild animal, almost, to trust him, he made no sudden movements and just hummed to himself as he worked around her.

When she finally settled, it was on one of the two beds. She perched on the edge and kept her gaze on the floor, staring at the old (but clean) carpet.

He almost leapt out of his skin when she spoke.

"What do you want me to do?" She was glancing between him and the bed at her back, and he fought the urge to vomit when he realized what she meant. His fists clenched and he had to turn his back on her to hide the horror in his expression. It took him a moment to gather himself; deep breaths and a lifetime of practice shoving the horror and the pain into the back of his mind. He dropped to her feet, sitting Indian-style on the floor and gazing up at her.

"Look at me, kiddo." She met his gaze with her own, wary, one. "I'm not going to hurt you. I don't want you to do anything. I swear."

"I don't understand. Momma said-" She bit her lip, stopping herself.

"What did your Momma say, Faith?" He was amazed that his voice was steady- he certainly didn't feel like that.

"She said that I had to pay my way."

"And how did she make you pay?" He was rarely this soft; this gentle. Not even with Sammy- not unless the younger boy was ill, anyway.

"She said that I had to let her boyfriends play with me." The urge to vomit was back, but he bit down on it.

"What kind of games?" If he didn't ask now, he never would.

And she told him; gaze averted, whispering words of torment that Dean couldn't even _imagine_ let alone understand. When she finished, there were tear tracks on his cheeks and he couldn't remember ever feeling so hopeless before.

There were no demons here; nothing Supernatural that he could put a bullet in to stop the pain. There was just a tiny child and her drug-addled mother, and a handful of sick-as-fuck men whose names the child didn't know. She was trembling on the bed; shaking like a leaf and carefully, quietly, he moved to sit next to her, laying one hand on her should in what he could only hope was a comforting gesture.

"Faith, I want you to listen to me, okay? Listen carefully. What your Mom's boyfriends did to you, those games they played with you- that was _wrong_. They were _wrong_ and that was a very bad game to play with a little girl." She gazed up at him, half afraid and half amazed and his heart broke a little more. "I promise, Faith, that you didn't do anything bad, okay? But those men were bad men, and your Mom was a bad lady, and it wasn't right that they hurt you. I swear kid I am never, ever, going to let anyone hurt you like that again." He knew he shouldn't promise her anything- she wasn't his family; wasn't his to make promises to. But in that second, in that moment, she was _his_ little sister and he would rip out the throat of anyone who even thought about hurting her, ever again. She gazed at him with disbelieving eyes, and he risked moving his hand to the top of her head, stroking her damp hair gently. "You're kinda amazing, you know that, right? You're an awesome kid." She blushed, ducked her head, and threw her arms around his torso in a tight hug.

Twenty minutes later, she was curled on Sam's bed, fast asleep, when John Winchester returned. He saw her immediately; before he saw his eldest son seated on one of the two kitchen chairs with his elbows on his knees and his gaze on her.

"Dean? What the hell is she doing here?" His son glanced over, then, and John was shocked to see his reddened eyes and pale face.

"Dad…. She's younger than Sammy and the things they did to her-"His voice cracked, choking back tears and the words were enough for all the darkest scenarios to play out in John's mind. "I don't care what we have to do, we're keeping her. I'm not going to let anyone hurt her, ever again."

He'd objected, he'd fought with Dean over it in hushed whispers as she slept away her tears- they'd woken her with their fighting and in the second she glanced at him, wearing an expression of fear and distrust that was so foreign on such a young face, he'd changed his mind. Dean rarely asked him for anything- and now he was asking and John couldn't find a place in his heart to say no to this tiny child. Mary had always wanted a third child; a daughter.

When the motel room door opened, John Winchester introduced her to Sam as his new little sister, and that was it.

"Really?" Sam was _excited_. "Where did she come from? How did she get here? I'm Sam!" He shook her hand with vigor, not noticing that she was staring at Dean and John with confused eyes. "I'm eleven. What age are you?"

"Ten." Her voice was low and her gaze guarded, but there was something in Sam's happiness that spread to them all. "But I'll be eleven in May." Three months away. She was almost a year younger than Sam, then. Sam just grinned again, glancing from his father- standing next to him with a faint smile on his face- to Dean, to the girl and back to his father again. There was definitely something going on, but he wasn't sure what it was. Was Dean mad that Dad had cheated on Mom and had another kid? Sam didn't remember Mom, but he was pretty sure that something like that would make Dean mad, alright. But Dean looked happy; _relieved_. Sam would have to ask him later.

"Sammy, how about you and me go get some ice cream so we can celebrate, eh?" John nodded to Dean and took his youngest son out of the room, leaving the eldest to explain to Faith what was going on. The teenager sat next to her on the bed and grinned widely. Part of him couldn't believe that John had caved so easily- he'd definitely been expecting a bigger fight than that.

"Faith, I spoke to my dad. I told him some of the things that you told me." She winced and he wondered if he should have kept her secrets. "He's not going to hurt you, ever. I promise." He twitched a little, wanting to run a hand across his face and sigh and cry some more, maybe. She let out the breath she'd been holding in, though, so maybe it was okay. "Dad… dad and I agreed that we want you to be our family, Faith. I want you to be my little sister and he wants to be your dad, if you want us. We don't have a lot of money and our life isn't easy, but Sam and I have always known that Dad loves us and he has taught us how to keep ourselves safe, you know?"

She nodded slowly, clearly considering the words. He muttered a few more words, reassurances, and then fell silent, waiting for her response. She was ten- that was old enough to make the decision for herself, he thought. At least, when he was ten he had been old enough. He figured she'd been through more than enough to make her qualified, now.

"You want to be my big brother? You and Sam?" He couldn't place the emotion in her voice.

"Yeah, sweets. I want to be your family. I want to keep you and Sammy safe from all the bad stuff in the world."

She met his eyes, her confusion clearing, replaced with something he thought was hope.

"I think I'd like that."

And just like that, Faith Mary Winchester entered the world- not with a scream, but with a nod and a tiny smile.


	2. What makes a Calling

Disclaimer: I bow to the geniuses that are Mr. Whedon and Mr. Kripke and I steal from neither- I borrow. :)

A/N: Another random one-shot in the same universe, set four (and a bit) years later.

* * *

They were in Tampa, Florida, when the Winchester's world was rocked to its foundations. Again.

John was on a Hunt- three women had been eviscerated in three months and the family had settled into a two-bedroom hovel for the duration. It was summer, almost, so Sam and Faith spent their time training and following Dean around like puppies and didn't bother with school. Sam only protested a little- his desire to learn only outweighed by his sister's pleas. Dean had argued that they'd only had a few weeks to go and it wasn't worth enrolling- might have been, if John had planned to be there all summer, but their next hunt was already lined up, two states away.

They'd been hunting together, all four of them, for a year. Dean had insisted that they wait until Faith was fourteen before letting her get involved; same as he had with Sam. John hadn't questioned the insistence- it was easier, leaving the pair alone together than it would have been if they'd never found Faith. They made a good team.

So they were in Tampa and there was a lot of down time- John was working the case and working at a real (paying) job at the same time. Dean was working too- hustling pool and poker in the evenings. But the days… during the days, he gave his brother and sister his attention. He gave them a summer holiday- what else was he going to do with his cash, but spend it on them? Florida was further south- and further east- than they normally travelled, but Bobby had called in a favour and Dean was intent on taking advantage. They hadn't been to Florida before- so he filled their days with day trips- Jacksonville; Lake Placid; Miami, the Everglades. Disneyworld- two glorious days of sunshine and roller coasters and it was worth every post-hustle beating to see the smiles on their faces.

He thought they'd seen enough darkness, already; took it upon himself to see to it that they saw some light, too. John even agreed- he hadn't even argued when Bobby had sent them down here. Bobby hadn't even argued when Dean had brought the Hunt to his attention, simply nodded and agreed to help him out.

The house was a hovel, no doubt about it, but in years to come it would be the place they remembered as being filled with sun and laughter and the feeling of almost being normal during the summertime.

That feeling; that lightness, even drove away the nightmares for a while- even John slept well in Tampa, despite the heat and the hunt and his tiredness.

That's why, when Faith woke up in the middle of the night and made her way downstairs, trying to be quiet, Dean noticed. He noticed her waking; noticed her slipping out of the room she shared with Sammy and down the stairs. He waited- gave her five minutes- but when she didn't come back up, he rolled out of his own bed and followed.

"Faith?" Her brother's voice was pitched low but she could hear him clearly. She had heard him, three minutes earlier, when he crept through the upper floor of the house searching for her.

She heard him, through two floors and her own hands pressed tightly against her ears. Dean found her in the basement- or the tiny space under the shitty house that served as a basement, at least- with her back against the wall and a wild-eyed look that he hadn't seen in her wear in years. "Faith? What's up, kiddo? Did you have a bad dream?"

She was fifteen- barely fifteen- and sometimes, she had bad dreams. Hell, Dean was twenty and he had bad dreams sometimes too. He'd even tell her that John had bad dreams, too, but they all knew that John drowned his nightmares in whiskey before they could grab hold of him. It was a coping mechanism that Dean was hoping the younger two wouldn't pick up. He was pretty sure it was already too late for him.

She nodded, just a jerky movement of her head that didn't reassure him at all. He said nothing, just threw himself onto the floor next to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulder. He pried her hands away from her ears and held them in his one hand, rubbing circles on the back on her hand in a motion he knew she found soothing. Years of dealing with nightmares had taught him how to handle this.

"Wanna talk about it?" He kept his voice quiet, which she appreciated, even though she knew he was doing it to avoid waking their father. John was upstairs, injured- which meant he would be unendingly grumpy if they woke him, amongst other things. Though at least he'd think twice before attempting the basement stairs with a twisted ankle- small mercies in their favour. Sam, of course, slept like a log regardless. Zombies could attack and the boy wouldn't wake up unless he was called.

"It was really strange bro. There was a girl and she was covered in dirt- clay, like that witch in Arizona, - and she was… she was savage. Like… prehistoric or something. And she was saying something to me but I didn't understand a word and then…" Her voice trailed off and she pressed herself into his side, tightening one hand in his shirt. She hadn't held him that tightly in years and Dean's concern levels rose.

"And then?" He prompted, brushing his hand across her face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"And then I woke up and now… there's something wrong with me, Dean." She gazed up at him with terrified eyes. "I can hear the guys in the house next door shooting up. I can hear Dad and Sammy's hearts beating." His own heart sped up a little, startled. "And I broke the sink, in the bathroom." She muttered that last part, but he heard her.

"You did that? I thought Dad got pissed and shot it or something. Wow." He fell quiet, but didn't push her away.

"I've been trying to remember if there was anything… if anything did this to me… but its been months since I was on a proper hunt."

"Maybe Dad brought something home with him by accident?" Dean suggested. "How you feeling? You got any hitchhikers in there?" She rolled her eyes. How was she supposed to know that?

"I tested myself with Holy Water- nada." And he'd pressed against her skin with the silver ring on his finger, just in case, but neither of them mentioned that. She hadn't reacted, anyway.

"Huh. You want to wake Dad?" A sure sign that he didn't know what to do- Dean would never wake an injured and tired John if he didn't have to. She shook her head, slowly.

"No. But I think we should. There's something wrong, Dean. I shouldn't be this strong; I shouldn't be like this." He just nodded and stood, slowly, pulling her with him as he went.

"I'll wake Sammy too. Put the coffee on- we'll need it."

Twenty minutes later, John Winchester watched his daughter through bleary eyes as she twisted an iron crowbar into a pretzel shape, seemingly without effort. His sons gaped, amazed, but John felt his heart sink. Hadn't she given enough, already? Had the kid not suffered enough for one lifetime? She was already a Hunter- why would anyone choose her for this, too? The fear in her eyes was real, and the worry in Dean's was not unexpected. Sam, of course, was almost bouncing in his seat with excitement; the need to research breaking him out of sleep entirely.

"Have I ever told you three about the Slayer?"

His three kids turned to him as one, various expressions of shock and amazement on their faces. Dean looked frightened, though, where the other two looked… excited. The Slayer legends had been a favourite story for Sam since he was a baby and he'd shared that excitement with Faith. The Slayer was humanity's defender; the bogeyman that the monsters they hunted were afraid of.

They didn't seem to care that the Slayer, in this case, was fifteen years old and had already been through enough crap to see her comfortably through years of therapy. Dean's heart sank as John recounted the legends for the two younger ones. There was no way to reverse it; no way to return the so-called gift. Even the fact that Faith would be better able to protect herself, now, wasn't enough of a comfort. Slayers lived hard and died young- that was just the way it was. They took on the biggest, scariest, meanest hunts and sometimes they didn't live to tell about it. One fell and another was called- end of story.

Dean would have been happier to learn that she was possessed, or cursed, or carrying a poltergeist under her skin. Anything would be better than learning that she had a date with destiny and the date was prefixed by expiry. Of course, the legends also said that the Slayer fought along, aided sometimes by a Watcher, but generally alone against the darkness.

No kid sister of his was going to face off against the bad and scary on her own, thank you very much. He could understand the logic- keeping civilians out of the field- but he wasn't a civilian and, even as his dad regaled them with stories of heroes and battles, Dean made a plan to follow his sister wherever her Calling led.

John sent Faith and Sam back to bed- dismissing them with promises that they would research more the next day. He waited until he was certain that Faith was sleeping before turning to Dean and offering the whiskey bottle he pulled from under the sink.

"We need to get to Bobby's." The elder man commented. Bobby would have books and research and words to share about what this all meant.

"You ever met a Watcher?" The other half of the Slayer legend- the Watchers. Most Hunters thought that if they were real, they were less than useless. Researchers; voyeurs. Murderers, maybe, if they did send those girls out alone. John just shook his head slowly.

"According to legend, they can track the Slayer somehow. They have spells to trace her with." They shared a look that spoke volumes.

Tampa, and that pre-summer light-heartedness, was behind them before dawn broke.

* * *

Two days hard driving later (fifteen hundred miles and change), with Dean following John's truck more closely than ever- they pulled into Singer's Auto Salvage. They hadn't called ahead; hadn't given the other Hunter any warning- just pulled up waited for him to brandish his shotgun in annoyance like he always did. True to form, Bobby waved the gun and scowled and cursed and then invited them in for breakfast.

Over coffee, Faith demonstrated her new strength for Bobby's careful eyes and the man had simply blinked, cursed and disappeared into his library. He returned with a book in one hand and a silver amulet on a leather cord in the other.

"Wear this, kid. No-one will track you when you have that on." She slipped it over her neck without comment.

For once, the Winchesters sat still and waited- no questions, no complaints- as Bobby did his research. John manned the phones, answering whatever questions he could for other Hunters and impersonating Bobby's aliases as best he could. Sam and Faith did any extra research the other Hunters needed, and Dean used the time to tune up the Impala and consider his options.

Bobby's research was worrying- Slayers didn't live long and they were drawn to the big stuff. World ending stuff. They'd known that; been aware of that, but hearing Bobby say it made it realer. Dean was already prepared to step up his game- his sister wasn't going to face this shit alone, so he'd need to be ready. His early morning runs stretched from five miles to seven; his drills stretched from one hour to three. He spent more time on the firing range in Bobby's yard that was probably healthy.

Faith and Sam watched him without comment. They'd been excited. They'd seen being the Slayer as a cool new toy.

Dean and John saw it as another way for the supernatural to take another woman they loved away from them before her time.

They were with Bobby a week when the first Vampire came calling- scenting Slayer blood when Faith cut her hand on scrap metal in the Junkyard. She'd been leaping from car to car at the time, getting used to her new instincts; her new reflexes.

The Winchester men, and Bobby (and honorary member of the family, anyway, even if they didn't share a name) watched with guns drawn as the predator in Faith came to the fore for the first time. It was over quickly- Faith knew where a person's heart was; she knew the lore on killing Vampires.

She hadn't been aware that there were any left; not in the boonies of South Dakota anyway, but she dispatched it easily, with the splintered end of a broom handle.

She'd been training with the boys since she'd joined the family- but no amount of training could account for her grace; her agility; her movements. There was something in her, now, directing her movements.

Dean recognized it as of years of practice; years of mastery. Whatever the previous Slayers had, Faith had it now, too.

She had her first dream that night and woke in the morning to declare that she needed to go to New Orleans.

There was a monster that needed Hunting.

* * *

A/N: There will be more added to this over time, hopefully. If anyone has particular scenes/crossovers they'd like to see, message me with prompts. I have dozens of scenes floating around in my head, but I'll be happy to accommodate prompts where I can. :)


	3. What makes a Watcher

Disclaimer: Still don't own BTVS or SPN. Woe is me.

A/N: Another random peek into this 'verse, set several months after the last one.

* * *

They were holed up in a motel in Northern Illinois when Faith realized she'd lost the amulet Bobby had given her. She'd been the Slayer for four months and she hadn't taken the amulet off for a second since she'd gotten it. She struggled to remember where she'd lost it; when she'd had it last, before giving in and telling Dean it was gone. To his credit, his eyes had widened a little in panic and she'd heard his heartbeat quicken but he just grinned and pulled her into a hug.

"That's fine sweetheart. We'll get a new one." He called Bobby less than three minutes later, even as Sam called John and Faith started to pack up. They'd been due to move on, anyway, heading to Wisconsin- Faith had a dream and John had found a couple of Hunts, so they'd be there a month or more. Dean hoped they could finish a semester of school in Wisconsin so the kids would be one step closer to being finished with it- Sam was pulling all As, as usual, and he was already pissed that they were leaving Illinois.

But the younger boy understood- keeping Faith away from the Council; keeping her _safe_ from the Council was more important than his grades. Dean had always promised him that he'd find a way for the boy to finish his senior year in one school- and Sam was going to hold him to it, he knew. So what if Dean had to spend the next year figuring out _how_ to manage that and accommodate hunting at the same time. Faith's dreams didn't exactly give them much warning- they'd spent the summer following the youngest Winchester's dreams across the country and it had begun to feel normal. And then school started again and the whole situation got a little less manageable.

She was throwing the last of the weapons into the weapons bag when there was a knock on the door. Dean, of course, insisted on being the one to answer- his Colt at his back and several knives on his person. He gave his brother and sister a chance to arm themselves before he checked the peephole, gesturing back to his family that there was only one person outside.

"Can I help you?" He kept his voice pitched low, gruff, hoping he appeared older than he was, and wishing suddenly for his dad- John had been working an hour away, checking the results of the salt and burn from the night before. But John wasn't here, whether he wished for him or not.

Their visitor was a woman; late thirties, dark hair and a solemn face. It wasn't hard to peg her as _Watcher_, based on Bobby's descriptions- neat suit, carrying a briefcase, practically _smelled_ like a rich English bitch.

"Can I speak with Miss Lehane, please?" There was certainly steel in her voice that Dean could respect. Of course, it was unfortunate that there was no _Miss Lehane_ to be found. He told her as much and pushed the door closed.

It didn't make her leave, of course. She just knocked again; more insistent. Dean rolled his eyes and pulled open the door again, stepping outside and closing the door after himself. Inside, Sam and Faith shared anxious glances- Dean could handle anything, normally, but this was a _Watcher_. Bobby had made them all swear that they'd stay as far away from the Watcher's council as possible.

And the Hunter had been none too pleased when he'd heard she lost her amulet- that wasn't the kind of machinery either of her brothers could build, so they were looking at a long, strained, drive back to South Dakota to get a replacement. Made longer and harder if they were running from the Council at the same time.

Dean would already have a plan, right? He wouldn't just leave her to the Council, would he? He wouldn't- she _knew_ that, but there was a tiny bead of panic in her stomach all the same.

"You were looking for Miss Lehane, right? There's no one here by that name." He was right in her face- he'd stepped out the door and into her personal space and, to her credit, she didn't step back, even though he was half a foot taller than her and a good deal more intimidating looking. Granted, the lady was a Watcher- she must have _some_ fighting skills.

"Her name is Faith?" She didn't even look puzzled, telling Dean that he couldn't lie his way out of this one; she knew Faith was inside; tracked her here using some fugly magicks that he didn't even want to think about.

"And? What do you want with her?" He fought to keep his voice neutral but met the woman stare for stare. She scoffed a little; making a face at him.

"Certainly not whatever _you_ want with her." The suggestion in her tone would have made him sick if he wasn't already sick with fear. "You should be ashamed of yourself; she's just a child."

Only years and years of training prevented Dean from knocking her out cold; that and his dad's voice in his ear telling him that _'You don't hit a woman, son, not unless she's possessed.'_ And if she didn't know who and what he was, she wasn't likely to be possessed.

"You didn't answer my question." The sick feeling in his stomach receded a little as the woman took a step backward, perhaps startled that she hadn't been able to anger him.

"There's… an inheritance, of sorts, that I must speak to Miss Lehane about." Was she trying to draw him out again? Intent on believing that he was a scum-sucking pervert, did she think money would make him take the bait? The sick feeling was back, stronger than ever. He knew he was no golden child- he didn't _look_ like the poster boy for normal, that's for sure, but what give this bitch the right to make assumptions about him?

On the other hand, she _did_ think he was a pervert who had, at best, run away with and at worst _kidnapped_ a fifteen year old girl.

"Oh? From who?" Faith _Lehane_ had no family.

"Her mother's family." Faith's mom had _family_? And they'd left her there anyway? The sickness gave way to anger, boiling and rolling in his stomach.

"Did you know her mother?" Tacit confirmation that _he_ knew Faith; first admittance that she was in the room behind him- but this lady knew that, so Dean lost nothing, he hoped.

The brunette nodded quickly and Dean couldn't tell if it was a lie (a line) or the truth.

"What was she like?" The woman seemed to shake herself and regain some of her composure; standing up straighter, on firmer ground, now.

"I know she wouldn't have wanted this life for Faith."

"What life?" Might as well find out what she thought she knew.

"Living in a motel with a man years older than her? It's not quite the life that any parent imagines for their child." Huh, maybe this witch _did_ think he was far older than he was. Good to know. Plus, it meant she'd just seen him- not Sammy.

He conceded her point with a nod; hell, even his own dad hated that this was their life, now. But that didn't change the fact that it _was_ their life. This was exactly their life.

"Come back tomorrow. If Faith wants to see you, she can see you then." The woman made a face, unimpressed.

"And what guarantee do I have that you'll even be here tomorrow?" Dean shrugged, carelessly.

"Lady, I have a six pack and girl inside. I'm not going anywhere tonight." He forced the leer into his tone by sheer strength of will, asking forgiveness at the same time from anyone who'd listen. The flash of anger in the woman's eyes actually earned her some points with him, unknowingly.

"I shall return in the morning." She held out her card which he took and pocketed without a glance. He watched as she walked away; stared at her until she sat into her car and drove out of the lot. He didn't think she'd see that he'd noticed the _other_ black rental vehicle in the lot, but that was her loss, not his. One black sedan with at least two guys in it and one guy on the roof across the street- armed with tranqs, he assumed, but god only knows with these people.

He waited until her car turned out of the lot and then turned back inside.

"We've got about thirty minutes, I reckon, before they bust in here to take her." Dean might not be Super strong or super smart, but he knew people- and that lady wasn't going to leave Faith with him for another night, not if she had anything to do with it. He could understand that, he could- trying to rescue the girl from a shitty situation. But when her motive was to use Faith as a weapon against all the scary shit in the world; to send her alone against the forces of evil or whatever? That was _not_ kosher. "Sammy- you're going out the window. I want you to take your gear, head for the road and come in through the parking lot. You'll pass a black sedan at the entrance- that's Council. You're taking the Impala." He threw the keys at his younger brother and Sam raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Faith will meet you on the road- they don't know which car is ours, so they shouldn't follow you. Head for Bobby's- you're only allowed stop for fuel, drive in shifts. I'll meet you there."

He ignored their shocked expressions- nothing he could do about that, now.

"Faith, c'mere a second." She didn't even blink at the large, pointy, dagger that had appeared in his hand. "Bobby told me something that will hide you for a while, okay? It's not permanent, and you _can't_ wash it off until you get to his place, okay?"

She was unprepared for him to slice across his arm and smear his blood across her wrist and forehead- the shape he made was familiar; the amulet had been the same symbol.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked, duffel bag over his shoulder and ready to go. He looked about as happy as Faith did at the prospect.

"I'm going to stay here until they come back and then tell them that Faith left. Simple." He was the only one they'd seen; the only one they had a description of, even. Seemed like the best option.

He forced them out the bathroom window without much argument- though he made them both promise to turn back if they saw anyone following them; he'd rather defend the motel room than have his little brother or sister get shot in the back running from Council goons.

Five minutes later he heard the Impala's engine start up and peel out of the parking lot and he let out the breath he'd been holding in. Faith called him briefly when Sam collected her, just to say they were together and on their way- they had code words in place for trouble and he heard none of them, so he relaxed a little further.

A full twenty minutes after his family had escaped, the motel door was knocked down by a steel-toed boot and Dean Winchester prepared himself to face down the Council's interrogators. He planned to lie until they believed him and then run.

No-one ever said Dean made particularly _good_ plans, but at least Faith and Sam got away, right?


	4. What makes it worth the pain

Disclaimer: I don't own either BTVS or Supernatural. But I do so love playing with them.

A/N: This is set several years before the previous chapter- so Faith hasn't been Called yet. Apologies if that's confusing but… meh. This is what the plot bunny wanted. ;)

* * *

"Ten bucks says she's evil."

Her brother rolled his eyes and laughed.

"You say that every time and when have they ever been evil?" Faith pouted- just a little, because she wasn't some little bitch- but had to agree. Nine schools in thirteen months and she had yet to win the bet. She swore that, someday, she'd find proof of it. Principals were evil. If Dean had been there, he'd have agreed with her. But Dean wasn't there, which was ninety percent of their current problem, leaving the youngest two Winchesters sitting outside the Principal's office waiting for their brother.

He was in the high school down the street but, knowing Dean, he was ditching class and secretary at the high school couldn't track him down. It would have been funny if Sam's nose wasn't bleeding and Faith didn't have a black eye. The school had standing orders (laid down by John Winchester himself) to contact Dean if either of them got in trouble- he was… working and couldn't be disturbed.

And if they let the Principal believe that the reason John couldn't be contacted was because he was a big shot military commander at the nearby air force testing base… well. No-one messed with you when they thought your dad was scary as hell. Except, of course, when they did mess with you because someone, somehow, found out that their dad wasn't in the military and that made the two new kids fresh meat and fair game. Hence the fighting and waiting for Dean to come fix it all- because he definitely could. Dean was the master of manipulating teachers and this one was a pretty middle aged one, at that. Cake.

Their escape plan hinged on Dean actually turning up, however, and they'd been waiting for thirty minutes already. Some of that time had been spent with the school nurse and some of it with the school counselor- but they both refused to talk about the fight until Dean was there with them. He always kept their stories straight, for one, and he could do the righteous anger bit better than John. Plus, if Dean came and fixed it all and they just got sent back to class then maybe John didn't need to know what happened. Right?

That possibility was blown when Dean finally made it to the middle school and took one look at the two of them, remorseless and defiant. Faith actually felt her stomach sinking- they'd be running laps, for sure. He took a seat between them and sighed, sounding older than his sixteen (and a bit) years.

"What is the first rule of being unnoticed in school?"

"Don't get caught fighting." They chorused. Sam, in particular, sounded entirely unrepentant. Faith couldn't be certain but she thought she saw Dean fighting back a smile.

"Mr. Winchester?" The Principal had seen him approach; watched as the young man checked his brother and sister for injury and she had waited until he sat between them to intrude.

"Yes Ma'am?" He even stood up and offered his hand to shake with a knowing smile- the epitome of respectability, despite the worn denim and heavy boots. Women the country over had fallen for it before and more would, Faith was sure. Dean had a dozen smiles just like it, but he kept his real one for her and Sam. They stood in unison, pressed together a step behind him, shielded by his body, as always.

"Come into my office, all of you. We have some things to discuss." This woman was tougher than she looked- she didn't even smile back. Dean didn't look worried though and the two younger ones took their cues from him, managing to grin at one another despite their injuries and their situation.

They were barely seated in her office when Dean launched an opening attack.

"You want to tell me who did this to my family?" His tone was deadly serious and Faith's eyes widened, just a little. Sam, next to her, looked alarmed.

Mrs. Higgins, the Principal, was taken aback.

"Listen here young man-"

"Don't 'young man' me, lady. I got called out of class and up here to your school because some little punks thought the new kids would be easy prey. I know my brother and sister- there's no way they started this." She was effectively silenced, gaping like a goldfish. Faith had to bite the inside of her mouth to stop her laughter. Sam still looked worried, but his sister knew that Dean had this one handled. Cake.

"The other students insist that they did nothing. They claim that your brother and sister walked up to them and started throwing punches." Dean said nothing- just raised an eyebrow in a 'what are you, stupid?' kind of way. She actually flushed, embarrassed.

"Sammy? What happened?" When their brother spoke to Sam, his voice was filled with patience and a kind of love that even Mrs. Higgins was impressed with.

"Those kids were saying things about Dad and then one of them pushed Faith onto the ground." Number one mistake was mentioning their dad- a sure fire way onto the Winchester shit-list. Number two mistake was touching Faith when Sam was around to see it. (Number three mistake was touching Faith, period. The girl could handle herself just fine.) "So I pushed the guy that pushed her and then his friend punched me." And it was downhill from there.

"How many of them were there, Sammy?" The boy actually blushed.

"Just six." Six against two? Mrs. Higgins blanched. She had only spoken to three other students.

"Do you know all their names?" She interrupted; anger colouring her tone. Faith nodded when Sam just shrugged.

"I do. They're all in my class, not Sam's." That explained Sam's blush- six boys a year or so younger than him. The kid was embarrassed that one of them got a punch in. The Principal handed Faith a notepad and pen and asked that she write down all the boy's names. Faith checked with her brother first, waiting for Dean's nod before quickly scribbling the list.

"Is that all, Mrs. Higgins? Can I take these kids home and get them cleaned up now?" If she hadn't been so off-balance, she would have insisted that they stay and answer more of her questions. But she was off-balance; caught unawares by the self-possessed sixteen year old in her office and by the two younger ones who had, it seemed, beaten up six attackers with only a bloody nose and a black eye to show for it. She definitely had more questions, she was sure of it. She just couldn't remember what any of them were.

"I will expect them to be back in school in the morning. And they have detention tomorrow for their part in the fighting." Dean looked as though he wanted to argue the point but he accepted it with a slight nod before ushering the two brunettes out the door in front of him.

They were in the backseat of the Impala before Dean spoke a word.

"So. Fighting in school? Catching the attention of the only people stupid enough to not realize you'd kick their asses for thinking about it?" He glanced over his shoulder at them, smirking. "I have taught you well, young grasshoppers. So… Denny's or Dairy Queen? I think this deserves to be celebrated." Before their grins could widen too much, he reeled them back in with a muttered, "And after that, we can start the line sprints."

The lecture came when they were sitting in the DQ, ice-cream melting slowly on the table in front of them. There was talk of staying under the radar and of making sure they were safe in school, and of how trouble could bring the wrong kind of attention onto the family. They were promised pain and torment if they got into another fight in school, but underneath his words Dean was fighting back a grin and he couldn't hide the pride in his voice. He was proud of them- for sticking up for one another; for standing up for themselves; for being family. Faith had been with them for just over a year and he worried, sometimes, that Sam would snap one day and reject her- like a body rejecting a donated kidney, or something, when Dean was pretty sure that he needed that kidney.

He let them eat their ice-cream, finally, and just sat and watched them together. Two dark heads of hair, both dressed in jeans and flannel shirts over worn tees. They were the same height, even, and though Faith's eyes were dark where Sam's were bright, they really could have been twins. If Dean didn't know better, he'd have sworn that Faith had always been with them. They even ate with the same precise bites- something Dean knew Faith had picked up from Sam, just as Sam had picked up her mannerisms, too. Sam worried less, with Faith around; with someone else to worry with him, maybe.

"Come on, brats." He ushered them out of the restaurant, careful to follow close behind them. "What kind of punishment should we start with? Five miles?" They both groaned- they'd already done three miles before school, pounding the pavement behind their brother as always. Their groans were like music to his ears, though. He knew they hated running. Sam would prefer to research something and Faith would prefer to shoot things. It was the one aspect of their training that he knew they both hated.

Dean didn't mind the miles. There was something nice about being able to run without having to run away from something. Peaceful.

He took them home and they changed to trainers and sweats, weapons strapped to arms and legs and knowledge of pain to come written across their faces.

Their brother allowed himself a slight grin and the only warning they got was a swift, "Keep up" before Dean disappeared; setting a blistering pace.

They ran for a long time, that night, following Dean as he wove his way around the town, making a game of what was supposed to be a punishment. The two younger ones chased as Dean led; trying to catch him, or anticipate his next move; his next turn. It was unspoken, unacknowledged joy and pride and at the end of the evening they could return home and tell John Winchester that they'd been punished for fighting in school.

Dean could say it with a straight face; no word of a lie. They'd run for miles, after all, and returned home exhausted and shaking and ready to collapse. John was waiting, when they did eventually return, with dinner on the table and a wary grin. The note that Dean had left him was gone from the fridge, replaced with newspaper clippings from a town thirty minutes away.

"Have you two learned your lesson?" His voice was intentionally harsh, watching as all three forced serious expressions onto their faces, Sam and Faith answering with a crisp, 'Yes, sir.'

"Good. Get washed up and we'll eat." Sam and Faith trooped away too exhausted to fight over the bathroom for once. Dean lingered in the tiny kitchenette, watching his father move carefully around the room.

"Ribs?"

"Bruised."

"Wrapped?"

"Yeah."

"Anything else?"

"Headache."

"Painkillers?"

"Three."

"You finish?"

"Of course."

John made a face at his eldest and waved off the concerned hands that were checking his ribs, regardless of wrapping. "Go wash up and we'll eat together for once."

He was home, he was mostly unhurt and the kids weren't suspended from school. John was counting this one as a win.

Dean nodded once, but didn't follow his siblings- Faith was in the bathroom first and Sam had retrieved his book bag and seemed to be starting his homework. The big nerd.

"Is that our next case?" He gestured to the clippings on the fridge and the notepad on the counter next to it. The next step would be to remove the old data, stuck to the walls with tape, and transcribe the details to the battered leather-bound journal that John carried everywhere. Then the next Hunt would make it to the walls; taped in place by Sam or Faith and poured over by all of them in turns. Sammy was getting really good at research and Faith could see patterns in attacks that even John sometimes missed.

They were a good team.

"Yeah- Four disappearances in the last two years. Bobby sent it on." If Bobby sent it, then there was almost certainly a Hunt. Dean hadn't known the man to be wrong yet.

"We moving?" If they were, he wouldn't have to apologize to the kid's Principal for acting like a dick. But John shook his head; no.

"We're good. This one is just an hour away." Dean nodded once and John caught sight of a tiny smile cross his son's face, just as the boy turned to the bathroom with a grin, where the door was just opening.

Dean made it to the bathroom before his brother, hustling Faith into Sam's path to impede the younger boy's progress and sticking his tongue out at the boy in a rare display of immaturity. Sam, of course, started yelling and threatening to pick the lock; Faith was laughing and offered suggestions for suitable revenge. John watched them with a grin on his face- his day had been shit; he was stiff and sore from digging graves and getting tossed around a rank basement, but coming home to this? Made it worth it.


	5. What makes a Hellmouth

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN or BTVS. But if I did…

A/N: Set an undetermined amount of time after the previous chapters, but during early BTVS Season three, after Buffy's return to Sunnydale.

* * *

There were moments- snapshots in time- when Faith realized that she was in precisely the place, with precisely the people, that were precisely right for her. Maybe it wasn't destiny, or fate, or the way her life was supposed to be, but she felt it, deep in the core of who she was. She was _made_ to do this- hunt evil- and her heart sang that she the family she had chosen for herself _got_ that. This part of her; this Slayer that could have- and would have- been so scary and unbelievable to the girl she used to be: Faith Lehane wouldn't have known what to do with her.

But she was a Winchester, and they'd been kicking scary and unbelievable's ass long before she became a Slayer. The only difference now was that she took point, not John or Dean. And she certainly couldn't complain about that; the Slayer in her _loved _taking point.

Like now, for example- inside, Faith was experiencing her moment of clarity; of gratitude and appreciation. _Outside_, she was toe-to-toe with big ugly and smashing its face in was her new favourite hobby. She'd have liked something sharp and shiny to take its head off with, but she was willing to find out if she could disconnect it using only brute force and lethal training.

"Faith, catch!" Of course, that's why her backup was handy- sharp and shiny came flying through the air, a perfect throw followed by a perfect catch and shortly after, a textbook beheading. She wiped the blade on the corpse and turned to check on her family- big and ugly had been the muscle, not the brains, and Sam had been chanting an exorcism last she'd heard. Dean had been on civilian duty, getting the sacrificial lambs to safety and out of the way of collateral damage. And John had been knocked out early on, but still came through with a weapon when she needed it.

"Everyone still alive?" Dean sounded amused, watching the black smoke dissipate as Sam finished his exorcism. "Or conscious, Dad?" It was so rare that John Winchester got knocked out that all of his children turned to check on him and watched as he scowled darkly.

"You're lucky I'm concussed or I'd kick your ass, Dean." There was no malice in his voice; no slurring either, so he wasn't even badly hurt. Wasn't hurt at all, Faith thought, given how well he'd thrown that machete.

"Yeah, yeah, you can bitch about it later. Faith, drag those bodies outside; Sam, check dad over, please." Dean didn't notice, sometimes, when he took over from their father- usually it only happened when John was injured, and it was rare enough that the eldest Winchester didn't complain. Even John could follow orders, sometimes.

Faith piled the demon corpses outside on the muddy ground, retrieving the blades that had gotten stuck during the fight, and checking them over for weapons or information- the things that a decomposing demon body held still amazed her. But not this time- these were bodyguards and they'd barely been armed. She was liberal with the salt and kerosene and watched as they burned to nothing.

They left that town peacefully for once, with no fighting and only minimal injuries- definitely counting in the win column- and got back to home base, Gilford, Wisconsin, just in time for school on Monday morning. Dean dropped them off with a wave and a smile and even Faith didn't have the energy to complain about it. The day passed slowly; incredibly slowly, and when she woke from a Slayer dream in the middle of study hall, it didn't even surprise her that she'd fallen asleep. Sam had always been able to sleep in the car but she'd never managed more than an hour or two and even that had lessened since she'd been called.

She came back to reality with a gasp, ignoring the curious stares from the students around her- and the supervisor, too. Faith was just grateful that she hadn't screamed or started crying or any of the really bad shit that sometimes happened when she dreamed. She didn't even look at the supervisor; never met the woman's eyes- just gathered her things and ran, out the door, out of the school and all the way back to the crappy apartment that they were staying in. They'd been here less than a month, but Faith's dreams didn't lie. It was time to go.

Dean and John woke instantly when she opened the door; hunter's instincts that almost matched her Slayer sense. Dean glared at her, bleary eyed and collapsed back onto his bed, asleep again before his head hit the pillow.

"Faith, what is it? What's wrong?" John glanced back at Dean once and led her outside, into the sunshine and brightness of early October.

She made sure there was no-one watching before she told; her nightmare vision of what was to come- of what _would_ happen if they didn't move.

"You're sure?" She nodded firmly, fear lancing her heart with the action.

She was needed; _they_ were needed on the Hellmouth. Where the Watchers were waiting for her, it seemed.

"Okay. Wake your brother and I'll make some calls." If he was bringing his kids to the Mouth of Hell, he wasn't going in unprepared. "We'll leave tonight."

She nodded once, relieved to have her Dad make the call- she'd been afraid that he'd say no; refuse to bring Dean, and her, into the spotlight of the Watchers Council. She should have known better- saving people, hunting things. Winchesters don't run from a fight just because they might get _hurt_.

Dean woke easily and accepted her words with a nod. He rolled out of his bed and was packing up before John returned.

"Bobby's going to meet us there. Caleb has a hunt in Wyoming but he'll head down when he's free." Dean didn't even blink- telling his sister that this was something they had planned.

"It's dangerous, Dad- they could be hurt." If her tone was more petulant than normal, no-one commented.

"They're grown men, Faith, and they volunteered." And that was it. Discussion over.

* * *

By the time Sam was finished school and home, they were packed and ready to go. He complained, a little, but relented with surprising ease.

The Winchester clan rolled into Sunnydale, California, as the sun was rising two days later. The town was coming to life slowly, cautiously. They drove the streets in convoy, Dean following the truck closely and keeping a nervous eye on the streets. The Hellmouth had a bad reputation for a reason and his siblings were sleeping in the car. Looking out for them was his job, dammit, and he wasn't going to let anything creep up on them if he could prevent it.

Bobby was waiting for them, in a safe house that some Hunters used when they visited the Hellmouth. Normally, John wouldn't consider staying on someone else's property- he had his pride, and lots of it,- but this was a Hunter's safe haven, warded to the gills with every protective magic known to mankind and some which had since been forgotten.

Much like everywhere else the Winchester family stayed, it was a shithole- falling down and falling apart, but there was electricity and running water and they weren't in much of a position to complain. The rest of the homes on the street were better, but not by much- peeling paint; overgrown gardens; abandoned cars. Faith was pretty sure that less than half of them were even occupied and there were 'for sale' signs on every second house.

Whatever the rest of Sunnydale was like, this street didn't seem out of place in a town atop a Hellmouth.

Bobby waited 'till they were all seated in the kitchen before demanding answers. Faith hadn't realized that he could be so patient, and she disguised her laughter with a cough.

"Faith had a Slayer dream. There's a vampire- a really old, really mean, vampire- on his way here." Some of John's anger slipped through into his expression.

"He's called Kakistos." They had a sketch of him that Jim had tracked down and Sam handed it across the table to the other Hunter. "He's so old that he doesn't even look human anymore." Bobby said nothing, but he studied the image carefully.

"The Watchers Council had people in Boston back in June, searching for me." She swallowed heavily, pushing down the guilt. "The Vamp found them instead and wasn't too happy that they were in his territory. He killed three and left the fourth, blind and crippled. He's coming here to kill the Slayer and if we're not here, she'll die."

"Any idea when?" God, she loved Bobby. Lay the scariest shit in the world on his doorstep and he'd just accept it and move on.

"Not yet." Her dad, in contrast, would curse and get angry and _then_ accept it and start planning.

"Do we know this other Slayer's name or where to find her?" Four heads shook; no.

"She's young and she's a Slayer. We'll start with the schools and the cemeteries." Dean frowned. "And the demon bars. There's bound to be more than one of those in this town and those guys will _definitely_ know who she is."

Bobby nodded and even John agreed.

"I'm gonna get some sleep. We hit the streets at dusk." Bobby and John retreated to the bedrooms at the back of the house and the three younger Winchesters exchanged glances. Dean grinned and waved the Impala's keys in their faces.

"Let's go."

Family tradition dictated that they explore their surroundings ASAP. In normal towns, that meant locating the nearest grocery store, school, church and bar. In Sunnydale, they quickly noted that there were a _lot_ of churches, few bars and only one high school within walking distance from their new, uh, home. Dean's job, ever since he'd turned sixteen, was to scope the schools and get the kids settled in as soon as possible.

This was the Hellmouth though and while John hadn't specifically ordered him not to be seen, Dean was pretty sure that wandering around the town when there was a threat of Watchers hanging over his head was a pretty bad idea. But really- when had that _ever_ stopped Dean from doing something? The kids were looking at him, too, with wide, pleading eyes and Sammy was doing that _thing_ where he looked all hopeful and excited and Dean just groaned and nodded, opening the driver's door and getting out of the car before he had a chance to change his mind.

The campus was quiet- classes had started and all the kids were inside, busy little learner bees or whatever. Dean headed straight for the office with the younger two trailing after him, whispering and giggling like children- they really needed to get some sleep _and_ he shouldn't have stopped for ice-cream. Ice-cream always made Sam hyper and Faith was bad enough normally, anyway. There was a sour-faced secretary busily filing, or whatever, in the office and she scowled at Dean when he approached. But, please- Dean Winchester had been charming battleaxe school employees since he was five years old and he wasn't going to lose his touch now.

She was putty in his hand seconds after he directed the mega-watt grin in her direction.

"Ms. Watts- may I call you Janice?" She held his gaze for a second before blushing, grinning and dropping her eyes. Dean allowed himself and internal victory dance and Sam, behind his back, made a gagging motion while Faith giggled. "Janice, my family and I have just moved here and I really need to see about getting these two enrolled in school as soon as possible." He leaned in over the desk and dropped his voice to a whisper, forcing her to lean in to hear him. "You know what kids are like- if I don't keep them occupied, they'll get in all kinds of trouble." She nodded solemnly and rooted out the registration documents, mounted on a battered clipboard.

"You take this honey and get it filled out and I'll get your brother and sister all signed up this morning." She reddened again as he thanked her profusely and called her _sweetheart_. Dean motioned for Sam and Faith to take a seat and proceeded to fill in their information with practiced ease and questioning Janice about the school; the teachers and the town at the same time. Faith doubted that the woman would ever realize that Dean was pumping her for information- Dean was _good_ at it; he could be subtle and charming when he wanted, drawing people out so that they _wanted_ to help him.

The same went for the short, irritable, school principal- Snyder. He emerged from his office half-way through Janice's explanation of the gang culture in Sunnydale, and Dean had been acting appropriately shocked and resolving not to allow his family get involved. Snyder looked like the kind of man who was eternally unhappy and who never had a good word to say about anyone- it took a little longer than with Janice, but a few well-placed compliments about the school grounds and the inferior leadership styles of _other_ school principals and Snyder was offering to show them around the facility himself. Sam and Faith compounded the good impression by being polite and offering handshakes to the little angry man and Dean was complimented on the good manners of his siblings.

He offered Janice a wink as he left the office, trailing after his siblings and the principal as they began their tour. It might mean they were forced to listen to a dozen boring anecdotes about the school; the teachers and the history of the town, but John had always told them that a little deference in the right places would buy them endless leeway later- you only get _one_ first impression, after all. Dean did his best to always make a good one, when it counted.

They endured the tour for almost thirty minutes before stopping outside the library. Snyder glared in through the glass in the door and turned to the Winchester children.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay far, far away from that girl in there and her friends- Troublemakers, every one of them." He sneered and Dean pasted a concerned expression onto his face as Snyder turned to him. "And keep these two away from that librarian, too. The first chance I get, I'll be sending him back to England."

Dean nodded slowly, his heart almost stopping when he put two and two together and got five. It wasn't _too_ unusual to find Englishmen working in the states, but what were the chances of meeting one in a school on the Hellmouth? Snyder moved to push the door open and show them inside but Dean put out his arm to bar the way.

"No need, Mr. Snyder. I don't want my family exposed to people like that." Sam looked disappointed and Faith frowned a little, but Dean forced a grin onto his face and stepped away from the library doors. "Why don't we go back to your office and I'll get that paperwork finished up for Janice? I would really love to have the kids start here as soon as possible."

Snyder just agreed with a grin. Clearly, these kids were going to be a real asset to the school. And the older one was just so _respectful. _


	6. What makes a Rogue

Disclaimer: Don't own BTVS; Don't own SPN.

A/N: This one is set *after* chapter three and before chapter five, so... what *did* happen with the Watchers? :)

* * *

Dean slept away the entire journey to South Dakota, worrying John intensely- he'd claimed to be fine; a little bruised, a little battered, but not broken. His father, after watching his eldest sleep for what felt like forever, vowed to check the boy over a little more closely when they reached Bobby's. Sam and Faith had arrived there more than twelve hours before and were safely hidden behind Bobby's wards and amulets. John wasn't worried about them in the least. They were hidden behind Bobby's shotguns and his willingness to shoot first and ask questions at the inquest, too.

He was worried about Dean. Dean, who threw himself to the wolves to prevent the Watchers council from catching so much as a glimpse of his sister; Dean, who was turning an alarming shade of purple as the hours passed, bruises blooming under his skin indicating a beating more severe than he'd admitted to.

John had arrived too late to do anything more than clean up the blood and apply ice to the bruises and he could feel the anger roiling in his stomach as he watched his boy sleeping. _His_ boy, Mary's boy- because Dean was so much of what he'd always loved about Mary- and they'd hurt him. Not fatally, no, and he was sure Dean gave 'em hell in return, but there had been three fully grown men on one twenty year old kid and that just wasn't kosher.

The desire to rip them apart with his bare hands grew stronger with every mile, so much that his knuckles were itchy. He'd find a way. Four English tourists wandering in the backwoods of Illinois wouldn't be difficult to find. He allowed himself a small grin at the prospect; hell, he could make a trip of it and let Bobby come, too.

Dean finally woke up as they were pulling into Singer Auto Salvage, seeming to sense that they were almost home. Or as close as the Winchesters got to home, anyway.

He was awake and alert and climbed out of the truck on his own; there was no pain on his face, though John was pretty sure that he had plenty of it. He walked gingerly, like he was carrying bruised, if not broken, ribs and John swallowed the concern that was welling up. It was late- he could send the kids to bed and then man-handle answers out of his son.

Faith and Sam were out the front door and across the yard and at Dean's side before John even got out of the truck- they were asking questions and jabbering and questioning the bruises that marked their brother's face. Maybe they wouldn't be so easy to send to bed, after all.

"I'm fine, I swear. They're just bruises- I got hurt worse last month with that Polgara and you two didn't fuss like old women then, did you?" They sighed in unison, not believing him but knowing that they'd get nowhere. He could see the worry in Sam's eyes and the anger in Faith's- his kids were open books, sometimes- when it came to each other, anyway.

* * *

It took two hours to convince the younger two that it was safe to leave Dean alone; it took that long to convince them that the Council weren't going to swoop in and kidnap their brother out from under their noses. As if John Winchester wouldn't have seen a tail if there had been one- he'd spent three hundred miles checking, and there _wasn't_. And if there was a magical talisman or something thrown into Dean's stuff, the hex bag that John had in the truck would have destroyed its signal. He might not be fond of witches, but some of the stuff they did was damn useful.

He waited a full fifteen minutes after the kids had retreated upstairs to pull Dean into the kitchen, plonk him on a stool and give him the once-over. As suspected, there was some really nasty bruising on the boy's ribs and chest and a few knife-marks that were already scabbing over- shallow and painful, but not dangerous.

He had an assortment of bruises on his back and shoulders, too, but nothing was broken and nothing was sprained which John was grateful for. Bobby insisted on applying an arnica and aloe paste to the boy's chest, regardless of Dean's complaining, and the stench made the elder Winchester gag- though he did his best to keep that from Dean's notice. And Bobby's, because God knows the man would hold that over him for years.

None of them heard Faith creep down the stairs; none of them heard her quiet gasp when she saw the bruises marring her brother's chest. They didn't see the anger in her eyes as she listened to Dean recite his encounter with the Watchers.

She watched as her father tended his wounds; watched as Uncle Bobby dosed him with painkillers and whiskey and they put him to bed on the cot in the living room. She watched them share the rest of the bottle and crept back to her room when John went to check on her and Sam; taking his time to tuck them both in and press kisses to their foreheads. She couldn't know if he'd done that before; she'd never woken, if he had. It felt nice; safe.

When John and Bobby finally slept, she rose; watching her eldest brother sleep, his breathing hitching sometimes as he moved, hurting himself in his sleep, bruises aching as he lay on them.

Somewhere deep inside, the part of Faith that remembered what it was like to _not_ be a Winchester; the part of her that had been beaten and battered more times than she liked to remember… that part of her ached for her brother; ached for herself, punished without deserving any punishment.

It was _that_ part of her that learned to hate; it was that piece of her that was fiercely protective of the boy who'd saved her. It was that piece of her- the scared, hurt, child- that needed the Slayer.

And the Slayer was going to rip body parts off whoever touched him. She could almost hear their screams already and it made her smile.

Toward dawn she drifted off, resting on the sofa opposite the cot, ready to wake at a moment's notice if he needed her; needed anything.

Sam found her first and woke her, confused. Faced with her brother's curious eyes, she could only tell the truth; she had no secrets from Sam. No secrets from any of them, really, but Sam knew everything- every dream and every plan she ever made for her life. She knew his, in return, and she couldn't lie to him- not about Dean. Not about this.

It was full morning by the time Bobby and John emerged, hung-over but rested. Dean was already awake, being coddled to death, it seemed.

Faith and Sam's glares were filled with accusation when they landed on him, but John just shrugged and said he hadn't wanted them to worry; that _Dean_ didn't want them to worry. It was the truth and they knew it- they had a lifetimes worth of evidence to show that this was the regular modus operandi for the eldest Winchesters.

"That's not good enough, Dad. Those fuckers could have killed him and you know it." Dean tried to protest but Faith's glare was enough to make him back down- he knew it was the truth, too. He couldn't deny it. Hell, he'd been willing, if that had been the price of getting Faith and Sam away from them.

"I know, Faith. I know." He sounded… old, for the first time that she could remember. "What could he have done differently? What other choice do we have?"

She growled, spinning and pacing an angry line in front of the fireplace.

"We could give them what they _want_." She suggested, but he knew her too well- he could see her plan written across her face. It was the same one he had, but all the more frightening because she was only fifteen.

"You know that's not the answer, kiddo. They'd come after us, all guns blazing if we so much as rough 'em up." That's what Dean had realized, the second he realized she'd been found. "But… we might be able to convince them to leave you alone if they know you're doing the Slayer's job, already." That had been Bobby's suggestion- go to them, tell them she was doing just fine without a Watcher, and disappear again, hopefully without revealing anyone's identity and making any more enemies for the Winchester family.

_Sometimes_, reason worked where force failed. And if reason didn't work, they always had force to fall back on- it made sense to John, even though every cell of his being cried out for revenge. He really, really, wanted to break some faces.

It was Dean, who refused to let him do it; who swore he'd never forgive him if he brought the full wrath of the Watcher's Council down on the Hunters for the sake of petty revenge. The family already had one vendetta- finding Mary Winchester's killer. They didn't need a second.

"So, what? Dad lies in wait somewhere and delivers a message?" She kept her tone purposely neutral. "Or maybe we could send up smoke signals? A carrier pigeon?" But her skepticism wasn't difficult to discern, regardless.

When they fell silent, she aimed a frustrated kick at the fireplace surround, wincing when the brickwork cracked and Bobby made a face at her. Bitchface, Dean called it, though Bobby wasn't nearly as good at it as Sam.

"It can't be dad. They'll only listen to Faith; she's the Slayer, not any of us." Sam couldn't meet her eyes as he spoke and she could understand that- he was afraid; terrified, maybe, that these creeps would take his family away. They'd hurt Dean, sure, but they hadn't done any permanent damage. They'd hurt him just because they _could_ and that kind of violence was unacceptable in the Hunter world.

It was the idea of permanent damage that worried Sam. Faith was cool with pretending they were all invincible, instead. They'd seen too much and done too much to be bested by a bunch of stuffy humans, surely.

"And we're not letting Faith anywhere near them." John's words were final; there was no arguing with the Winchester patriarch when he made up his mind about something. "We'll figure out something, I swear. This won't happen again." Even Sam, who questioned their father more than any of them, believed the certainty in his tone. "We'll rest up here for a while and we'll make a plan. You two- leave your brother alone. Dean, go back to sleep."

* * *

The stayed for six days, just long enough for Dean to stop walking like an old man. Bobby watched as the Impala drove out of his yard, Faith in the passenger seat. The Slayer had always loved to travel with Dean; loved to listen to him singing along or teasing Sammy. She travelled with him now because she was afraid to let him out of her sight; afraid that the Council would return and take him away. Sam had agreed to drive with John- she'd had to beg, almost, to get shotgun in the Impala and no way was he going to curl his long legs into the backseat of the car.

Their next hunt was Wisconsin, where John had a line on a vengeful spirit or two. Faith had dreamed of fire and altars and they'd be chasing down a ritual sacrifice, too, as soon as she could get a name on the town- but it was north Wisconsin. She could feel it in her bones; always knew when they were heading the direction of something big and ugly that needed smashing.

They drove in silence, more or less, for several hours; before Dean finally snapped and heaved an '_I'm so put upon'_ sigh.

"Stop staring kid or I swear I'll leave you at the next stop." She hadn't been _staring_. She just been watching him and she told him as much. He just glared.

"I'm not going to disappear, you know? It'll take more than three dudes with diaries to get rid of me." He'd go on to prove that, over and again, in the coming years but Faith couldn't have known that.

"I thought they'd killed you." She wasn't even aware of her tears until they dripped from her chin onto her hands. There had been hours and hours between leaving him in that motel and finally hearing from Dad that he was alive and mostly okay. She couldn't remember ever being so scared- she'd been scared before, for herself, but she'd never really had to be scared for Dean. She was the Slayer, sure, but he was her big brother and he'd always been strong and brave and in-freaking-vincible.

He didn't know what to say to that. What _could_ he say?

"I'm glad they didn't." She sniffled, once, and he took one hand off the steering wheel and reached out for hers.

"Me too, sweets. Me too."


	7. What makes a Hunter

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN or BTVS. Woe is, indeed, me.

A/N: This one is set about six months after Faith joined the Winchesters.

Warning: Possibly triggery for mentions of rape and abduction- nothing graphic, nothing exceeding anything else that's been mentioned in this fic, but warnings are important, I think.

* * *

Years later, when he looked back, Dean wondered at the ease with which she slid into their lives. It should have been different, or difficult, for the family to adjust to another pre-teen, but it wasn't. John still hunted, and Dean with him when he really needed back up. Sam and Faith went to school- she was a year behind Sammy and she needed extra help after school to catch up on everything she had missed, but that was easy. Dean looked after them both- got them up in the morning for school or at the weekend for training. He made sure they ate well and that they were always clean, and they knew that he was there, always, to look after them. The transition was relatively smooth- sometimes, she woke in the middle of the night screaming, but Dean or John were always there to hold her until she stopped shaking.

It wasn't _easy_, but it certainly wasn't _hard_. Not the way the teenager thought it should have been, anyway.

The first summer she was with them, they spent touring the wilderness of Montana hunting a pack of shifters that had killed three girls before disappearing into the mountains. There were seven of them- all men, all large and brutish.

Dean was a mile away, watching through a rifle scope when he saw them- his Dad was another mile back, similarly kitted out. Sam and Faith were safely hidden away at the motel, watching bad TV and rotting their brain cells. Well, maybe that wasn't fair. If Dean knew his little brother at all, Sam had probably forced their sister into studying. The youngest Winchester was helpless against her brother's desire to learn and she indulged him the same way the rest of the family did. Dean was the one who had to listen to her bitch about it, afterwards.

When he saw the men- John had estimated that there were six or seven of them, though how he had figured that out Dean didn't understand- he didn't hesitate. There were seven of them, and two of them were holding a young blonde girl between them. He had tried to ignore the descriptions of exactly what had been done to the previous victims, but the details reared up regardless and he could taste bile at the back of his throat.

He was loaded with silver, and he was a crack-shot. He didn't hesitate once; seven sharp cracks and seven targets hit with deadly accuracy. They didn't see him; hadn't noticed him approaching. They hadn't stood a chance.

He radioed his Dad and John made his way to the girl as Dean returned to the car. He didn't want to see the girl; he didn't want to see the bodies. He wanted to see his brother and his sister and listen to them tell him stories about whatever it was they had learned or what they'd been watching on TV.

They dropped the girl off at the nearest hospital- she'd hadn't been hurt, thankfully, and she promised not to say a word about what had happened, claiming she'd been lost in the woods for hours, instead.

John was pretty good at convincing people that they wanted to lie for him and Dean wondered if he'd be that good, someday. He doubted it- he wasn't patient enough, with people. Well, with people that weren't his family, anyway. He was as patient as he needed to be with Sam and Faith.

John hadn't said anything while the girl was in the car, but he slid one hand onto his son's shoulder as they walked toward the motel room and offered a gruff 'well done, son'. Dean was pretty sure that the elder man hadn't intended for the words to make him feel ill, but they did.

Inside, the kids threw themselves at the returning Hunters- Faith reaching for him as Sam leapt at John. They'd been reading through John's journal and Sam had managed to convince them both that their motel room was haunted. Dean just rolled his eyes, lifting Faith up and onto his hip- she was still young enough that he could do that, not least because she secretly loved it- and promising them both that the room was clean.

"Would I leave you here with a ghost, hmm?" They had to admit that, no, Dean wouldn't leave them alone and in trouble. John just grinned at it all, ruffling Sammy's hair and ghosting one hand over Faith's head, where it rested on Dean's shoulder. He bumped off his eldest, too, letting the teenager know that he was there for him, too.

John might be dogged, but he wasn't oblivious- his eldest was unhappy and unsettled.

Sometimes, John forgot that normal teenagers don't shoot seven men dead with a sniper's accuracy without blinking. Sometimes, he forgot that his eldest was just sixteen. Sometimes, Dean reacted to things in the _normal_ way- the way John would have, when he was his son's age.

Of course, when John was sixteen, his time was preoccupied with worrying about whether Suzie Danvers would let him touch her boobs.

"Get your stuff together kids- we're going to Bobby's." Sam's face lit up with glee- he loved Bobby's house. Dean grinned too, though it was a shadow of his normal smile. He hugged his sister tight, noting that she didn't seem thrilled, and whispered into her ear that Bobby was sure to love her, too, and that he had two dogs that she and Sam could play with.

He knew her pretty well, all things considered, and she dropped to the ground with a grin and raced away to pack her things.

She hadn't got much- none of them did- but she had her own duffel bag, now, and her own personal handgun. Dean had taught her how to use it and how to care for it. She was a crack shot; almost as good as he had been when he began. Sam had been briefly jealous at the attention, but John had taken him to lunch one afternoon and explained to him what it meant to be a big brother and the boy had swallowed his jealousy in favour of showing Faith where they kept the silver bullets.

The Impala was loaded in record time- the two kids could move pretty quickly when they were given proper motivation- and John tossed Dean the keys to the Impala. He might not have a license in his own name, but he had more than one fake ID that said he could drive and more than one false insurance document saying the same.

He'd get one in his own name when he was seventeen. That was what John had planned, anyway. He might even insist that the boy take the test.

* * *

They left the motel just as night was falling and Dean was happy to leave the place behind. On the outskirts of town there were signs of activity- signs of rangers and forest workers gearing up for a search, it seemed. In the distance, Dean imagined he could see the smoke rising still from the burning bodies. But it was imagined- John Winchester would never leave open flame burning in a forest. Dean might, if he had to, but John wouldn't. Not even to track down his teenage year old mass-murdering son. The boy clamped down on the vomit that threatened to rise, pushing one of the old tapes into the tape deck instead and turning up the volume.

For once, John didn't even flinch when the noise reached uncomfortable levels. Sam and Faith didn't complain, absorbed in some ridiculous alphabet game that Dean had introduced them to several weeks before. It was times like this, right in that moment that Dean just wanted to suppress everything and turn the music up so loud that he couldn't even hear himself think, that the teenager was so grateful that they'd found his sister. She gave Sam someone to talk to; something else to be distracted by so that Dean wouldn't have to force a smile onto his face and work out a game to distract him. Not right then, anyway. Not for at least another three hundred miles, maybe.

Faith, as it turned out, loved Bobby. She loved his house, rambling and old and filled with weapons and books and old toys. She loved the junkyard, where Dean took her target shooting and taught her how to rebuild a catalytic convertor.

She loved the fields behind the house, where she played hide and seek with Sam for hours and hours on end even though they were both getting just a little too old for the game. Dean sat and watched them, working his way through an arsenal of weapons that needed cleaning. In return, Bobby loved the little girl, too. Dean was never sure what his father had told the other Hunter- Bobby was smart enough to know that there was no chance in hell that she was _actually_ John Winchester's daughter, for all the man swore she was.

But whatever story Bobby got was enough to mean that every time he saw her, after that first visit, he always had a smile and a hug for the girl, even when the boys got sworn at and cuffed across the head.

That first time Faith met Bobby… it was July and it was almost unbearably hot, and the two youngest Winchesters spent their days in the junkyard, playing at Hunting and practicing their shooting with BB guns and air rifles. They practiced knife throwing, too, but Dean made them swear not to tell John or Bobby about that.

John left them there for almost a full month- coming and going himself on Hunts as they cropped up, but never gone for more than two or three days. Dean knew without being told that this holiday was for him; that his father was waiting for some signal that Dean was alright, that he was _fixed_ or _better_ or something and that as soon as he gave that signal, they'd be packed up and on their way out of state.

Bobby never said anything and John didn't know what to say to his eldest; didn't know how to relate to the boy. They just gave him space and time and hoped it would be enough. Dean… well, Dean didn't know how he was supposed to be feeling. It wasn't the first time he'd killed something that looked human- there had been a Ghoul in Dallas and a part-turned werewolf in Billings and he hadn't hesitated on either of those hunts, either. This had been different. They'd been bad dudes. He _knew_ that- he'd watched them through the rifle scope as they'd begun to play with their latest victim. But there were so _many_ of them. Seven. More years of life than Dean would ever live, just gone with the crack of a rifle. That should make him feel bad, shouldn't it?

He was pretty sure he should feel guilty, or bad, or something but… the truth was that it wasn't their deaths that was preying on his mind; not at all. The ghost of regret that kept him up at night was the first two girls. The first two victims, who'd been hurt in ways that he couldn't even imagine before being ripped to pieces and dumped in the woods like so much trash; he couldn't forget them. Their families, normal, decent people who didn't deserve the tragedy of losing a child like that… they might not ever realize that the monsters who had taken their girls were dead. And how many other victims had there been? The shifters had been traveling together for years, John said.

In the dark, listening to his brother and sister make the soft sounds of sleep, Dean felt that bile again. There could have been dozens of girls, over the years. Girls like Faith, maybe- young and terrified and helpless against men bigger and stronger than them. He bolted from his bed and barely made it to the bathroom before losing his dinner into the toilet. Yeah, he'd saved the last girl, but the sting of losing all the rest settled in his stomach like acid and the hunter resolved right then that he'd never give up. He'd do whatever he had to do to _save people._ Hunt things.

* * *

A/N: Next time we'll get some Hellmouth-y conflict, but I wanted to put this out there first. Hopefully, no-one is disappointed that we've moved backwards again... the muses get what the muses want. :)


	8. What makes a Responsibility

Disclaimer: Don't own either. Woe.

A:N- Following on from chapter 6, so we're on the Hellmouth again. :)

* * *

Sam had seen his dad angry lots of times- John Winchester was expressive and he especially didn't like it when his children got hurt or worse: needlessly put themselves in the path of oncoming danger. This time, though, John wasn't just mad he was furious- Sam had never seen him turn that shade of purple before and though he couldn't hear what his dad was saying, he was pretty sure that none of it was pleasant.

Sam and Faith had been sent to the backyard the moment the Impala pulled into the drive and John had ordered Dean into the house. They'd been in there for twenty minutes already and though Dean looked to be holding up well under pressure, John was only getting started. This was the shouting segment of the dressing down- there'd be the running bit and then the push-ups and then, maybe, the sparring bit. Sam or Faith would be drafted in to spar with Dean, though. John hadn't trained with either of the boys since Dean was thirteen- the boy had missed a block and John's fist had connected. Sam remembered the bruise that had blossomed across Dean's face. It had lingered for days and John hadn't been able to look at Dean without wincing.

This was all his fault- he'd been the one to convince Dean that he needed to get back to school. He'd convinced them to go in, and he'd even been the one to ask to see the library. Faith seemed to notice his misery and she smacked him, carefully, across the back of his head.

"It's not your fault, doofus. Dad's pissed because we disappeared without telling him what we were doing and he woke up and we were gone. You know what he's like- he needs to have the skinny on every move we make or he freaks the fuck out." True enough.

"He only started yelling when he heard where we were. You can't tell me that I'm not the reason we were at the school." She groaned and nodded, just a little.

"If I accept that, then you have to accept that there's no way you could have known that the other Slayer would be at school there." Sam wasn't psychic, after all- she was the one with prophecy dreams. "Besides, we were doing the same thing we do in every new town- Dad is throwing his little shit fit because Dean came so close to a Watcher." They were all agreed that it hadn't been ideal- they were lucky that Dean had realized the truth before they'd accidentally stumbled across some secret Slayer meeting or whatever. Sam was pretty sure that the next Watcher Faith met was going to be on the receiving end of some serious bodily harm. It was a toss-up between Faith, John and Bobby about who had been more pissed about Dean's injuries. Sam had been there, right with them and pissed too- until Dean talked to him; explained why he'd done it and why he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Faith was more important than a few bruises. She didn't really believe that, so she was angry. John and Bobby were angry because they hadn't been there to stop it. Dean was mad, sure, but he wasn't going to do anything stupid and he'd promised to kick Sam's ass if the younger boy acted on it himself. They were on the Hellmouth and there was a nasty Vamp descending who had a jones for Slayer blood- they had more important things to worry about. Sam could worry about the Council after they were sure that his little sister wasn't going to get eaten by Vampires- priorities, right?

"Yeah. I suppose." He turned to look at her; she was staring into the house with an expression on her face that he'd only ever seen on his dad's. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid?" That was enough to catch her attention. She glanced at him, her expression confused. But Sam knew her and he could tell that she knew exactly what he meant. "Don't run off half-cocked to kick the crap out of someone. We don't know if the Watchers that hurt Dean are anywhere in town. The watcher here is working with a Slayer and I'm sure she needs him healthy."

Healthy did not necessarily mean unharmed. Faith didn't point out the difference.

"If I so much as see a picture of that bitch in his photo-album, all bets are off." But she'd be good. "I'll behave myself, Sammy. I swear." He nodded, satisfied, and turned back to the scene in the house. It seemed John was calming down; Dean was allowed talk now, at least.

"Wanna sneak up to the house and find out what Dean's telling Dad?" They'd need their stories straight for later- Sam had no doubt that his brother was taking all the blame for this one and John would grill them all about it later.

"I dunno. I can hear just fine so it's only your ass that's on the line, sweetheart."

Bitchface was an appropriate response to any sibling teasing, it seemed. Faith didn't know what he was getting fussy about- she told him everything anyway.

When John stopped shouting and started asking questions, Faith and Sam knew it was time to make their way inside. Dean was sketching a layout plan of the school and marking the routes to and from the library with the ease of someone who had planned more than one getaway in the past. His siblings sat either side of him and pointed out little details that he'd missed or skipped over; they ignored the glower that their father aimed at them, hoping that if they ignored him hard enough, he wouldn't start shouting at them.

It seemed to work, distracting him with details and what they'd learned about the school and the other Slayer. Sam had to bite his tongue to stop himself from reminding his father that he could actually learn all these things himself- all he had to do was walk into the building to sign off on their transfer paperwork. Details like that sometimes escaped their father though and it was entirely possible that Dean had already signed John's name anyway. He'd done that before, on report cards and the occasional bad grade. He'd managed to hide that he was flunking senior year for months because of the quality of his forged signatures. Sam was pretty sure they'd scraped through without punishment when Bobby started loading for bear as John studied the town maps. Conveniently, whoever had left the maps in the hunter bolt-hole had outlined all the cemeteries in bright pink highlighter, making charting a route a simple affair.

Unfortunately, that simplicity meant that there were hours of daylight to burn before they could go anywhere- John planning to hit the demon bars as soon as the sun set and start a patrol of the town afterwards. The teens sat quietly, hoping that he wouldn't remember that he was angry. Dean was cleaning weapons in the living room and studiously ignoring them both, for once. Whatever they'd been attempting didn't work, anyway. Three minutes into his planning, their Dad glanced up and saw them watching him, innocent expressions completely out of place on both faces.

"Outside, both of you- you both need the practice hand-to-hand. Dean, watch them." Their brother, in the other room, heard the order with no trouble, stalking through the kitchen and out the backdoor without a word. Faith darted out after him, hoping that speed would aid her escape where silence hadn't worked. Sam was the only one of them that heard their father mutter something about crazy, suicidal children giving him grey hairs and headaches and he fought back a grin. Whatever anger he'd had seemed to have abated without anything harsher than extra PT. Though… he was definitely getting the short end of the stick- sparring with Faith always meant bruises, even before she was Called.

* * *

Willy's bar was, as always, dimly lit and smoke-filled. He'd always claimed it helped the ambiance but really, the stench of cigarette smoke helped to cover the stench of rot, decay and demon slime that was often carried into his bar. Toward seven o'clock, the bar was half-empty but busy enough with the early evening crowd, stopping in for a drink or two before heading out on the town or whatever. Whatever, because Willy didn't ask many questions and he sure as hell didn't want to know the answers. When he knew the answers, he ended up bruised and battered. Not knowing things meant that it was only the Slayer he pissed off- everyone else left him more or less alone.

Despite his reputation as snitch- gods, he hated that word- his bar still pulled a good crowd, especially at the weekends. It wasn't just demons either. Plenty of humans spent their evenings propped up on his bar stools. The humans in his bar were normally of a particular type- Usually the bad-guy set; sorcerers and chaos mages and whatever else could masquerade as human and sip whiskey from a dirty glass. So, no, humans weren't unusual.

Hunters though… hunters were definitely not the norm- so the second those two walked into the bar, eerie silence fell. There were a couple of Vamps, several demons and a human blood-whore and they dropped their eyes to the ground and practically stopped breathing. Willy knew Hunters when he saw them- they carried themselves with an air of readiness that no other human in his bar ever quite managed. So when the first Hunter on the Hellmouth in more than a year walked into his bar, Willy paid attention. He was in his forties, at least, dark hair and muscled, wearing flannel and denim and leather and armed to the teeth, though his hands were empty. That actually made it worse- empty handed Hunters meant confident Hunters and confidence was usually won from years of winning fights with things that are bigger and nastier than you.

Willy was afraid of the Slayer- no question there. He knew that she was stronger, faster and tougher than anything that he would ever be able to throw her way. But the Slayer lived by rules and a code of honour and respect for human life and that meant he knew she'd never hurt him; not really. The last Hunter in town had been Cain and Willy had never been afraid of him, either. He'd show-boated into town, wearing that ridiculous necklace and he'd carried a machete in one hand every time he stepped into the bar.

"You the barkeep?" Voice low and contained, like a dog growling. The barkeep in question swallowed heavily and his voice shook when he spoke.

"Yeah, I'm- this is my place." The man smiled slowly and that was kind of scarier, somehow, than the blank expression he'd been wearing before.

"Good. I need you to do me a favour." Willy forced himself to take a deep breath and his shaking stopped.

"Sure, sure. Anything to help." Around them, the patrons relaxed- whoever he was, the guy was here for something; looking for help. He wasn't likely to start a fight until he got what he wanted. They all tensed again, seconds later, when the guy reached into his jacket- it was ridiculous, he knew to have so many supernaturally strong and fast killers quaking in their boots over one stinking human. Of course, most of the lower level demons were afraid of humanity- they were vastly outnumbered and they knew it- but they very rarely let it show so obviously. The barman couldn't help but wonder if they all knew something that he didn't.

"Deliver this to the Slayer for me." A crisp, clean white envelope was pushed across the bar in his direction and Willy grasped it carefully, as though it would explode.

"Sure. Sure, no problem. She was here yesterday. Next time she's in here I'll-"

"No. You'll deliver it personally." The man's eyes narrowed. "Now would be good." Willy just nodded, paling under the scrutiny of an assessing glare- assessing and finding him lacking, and scooped up his car keys from behind the bar.

"Everyone out! The bar is closed for the night." There were some grumbled complaints but no-one brave enough to challenge the decision- Willy just watched them leave and the Hunter stood silent by the bar, staring his own reflection in the mirror. Or watching the demonic patrons leave without having to meet their stares, maybe.

"Straight to the girl's hand, Willy, or I'll know you let me down." Willy nodded once, almost shaking.

"No problem. No problem at all." The Hunter was walking away from him, out the door and into the darkness and likely to chase down the very patrons that Willy had just sent packing. "Who should I say it's from?" He certainly wasn't going to open it to see if the man had signed his name. Whatever was in the envelope was nothing that he wanted anything to do with- but he knew the Slayer, and he knew that he'd get punched at least once if he had nothing to offer her but a vague description and a lousy letter. The Hunter didn't pause; there wasn't as much as a hitch in his step.

"Winchester." And he was gone before Willy could ask him if he meant Winchester, like the rifle, or Winchester, like the crazy man who'd been routing demons across the continent for twenty years.

Hunters might not come to the Hellmouth much, but the demons on the Hellmouth sure as hell knew who they were and in the last two decades few of 'em had earned as tough a reputation as John Winchester. And in the last year, the stories about the man had escalated- tales of him taking on demons that the Slayer herself would think twice about and walking away without a scratch.

Whatever was going on here, Willy was absolutely certain that he did not want to know but he understood, suddenly, just why his customers had been so wary. You don't get to be a legend like Winchester without taking down some seriously bad shit. But that didn't mean he was going to risk the Slayer, either. She could come to him; with Hunters in town, she'd show up eventually.

* * *

_The library, Sunnydale High._

"I swear- two old guys, a pair of flamethrowers and an ancient creaky car." The blonde teen shrugged and rolled her eyes at her Watcher. "It was way weird but the Vamps got toasty so… yay?"

"Did you happen to notice anything else?" He managed to sound both pissed and amused and his Slayer grinned at hearing it. She'd been… away, all summer, and she'd missed him and his tone. From her seat at the table, she watched as he cleaned his glasses and was surprised by the bubble of warmth in her stomach. She'd really missed him.

"Nope. They were gone by the time I got there. All that was left was dust in the wind." Humans, killing Vampires? Generally okay in her book but, you know, unusual. Especially humans who were good at it- that spelled bad in big, glittery letters.

"Oooh… are they Hunters like that Cain guy last year?" The redheaded witch shot a concerned glance across the table to their resident Werewolf. Oz just raised one eyebrow and the expression on his face might have been curiosity.

"I have no idea. Their toys were trés cool though- Giles, can I get a flamethrower?" Her Watcher didn't answer, just shook his head absently and Buffy's face fell. She really wanted one- how cool was that? "If they're Hunters, we'll deal with 'em the same way we did Cain- this is our Hellmouth and they can go Hunt somewhere else. I'm sure there are lots of things to kill in, say, Detroit."

"Why Detroit?" The dark-haired boy sitting opposite her asked absently, flicking through the pages of a dusty, smelly book with one hand. His other hand was wrapped in Cordelia's, though hidden under the table so no-one would see. They might be officially a couple, but the popular girl had been listening to Willow's suggestion that they not flaunt their coupleness since Angel had gone psychotic and Buffy had been forced to kill him. It would have been insensitive.

"Why not Detroit? There could be, like, haunted cars maybe? That'd be cool."

"Cool right up until they run you down. Even Slayers can be killed by car accidents. Plus, ghosts don't leave trophies and we know Hunters like their trophies." Behind his desk, Giles rolled his eyes and suppressed a sigh, wondering for the millionth time how his life had managed to come to this. He was willing to bet that haunted cars were the only suggestion any of the children could proffer because that was all any of them knew about the city.

"Buffy, you should ask around tonight. If there are Hunters in town, the demon population will know." He managed to slip the order in around a discussion on which shoes were the most comfortable for slaying- thankfully, that conversation didn't include him. Buffy just nodded her agreement and returned to the debate, arguing for heels versus flats because she was already short enough, thanks, and sometimes pointy heels could be weapons. The librarian just went back to his books, hoping that the bell would ring soon and they'd leave him alone to get his work done. For once.

* * *

Just before sundown, the blonde slayer sauntered into her first stop of the night- Willy's bar, the stinky, disgusting haunt favoured by the slimy and the gross. The barman wasn't the only one who watched her stroll up to the bar- there were half a dozen various demon-y types and a pair of Vamps hiding in the backroom. No humans though, unless you counted Willy. Most days, Buffy didn't.

"Slayer! What brings you to my humble abode?" His voice dripped with false cheer and she matched his forced grin with one of her own.

"Why am I ever here, Willy? Why don't we skip the foreplay and get straight to the part where you tell me about the new players in town." Willy laughed, high-pitched and utterly fake, and he shook his head in what the Slayer assumed was dismay.

"I know nothing about any new players- same old, same old lately." Buffy just stared at him from the other side of his bar, waiting. She looked… bored.

"I can wait here all night, you know. Lots of demons here to slay." As expected, the little man caved quickly- he couldn't allow her to kill his customers, could he? He was an upstanding member of Sunnydale Chamber of Commerce- protecting his customer base was the key to maintaining his profit margin. And stuff.

"Okay, okay, I may have heard a rumour about some new people in town. Human types." Around them, the demons tensed but Buffy forced herself to ignore the tingle at the back of her neck.

"And? What's the skinny?" Willy's forehead beaded with sweat and she wondered, briefly, what could scare the man who served her worst nightmares beer and pretzels.

"Word is that they're Hunters and that they're here for a reason. Most of the lower demons are in hiding and the uppers… well. They aren't exactly aching to be spotted either, if you know what I mean." She didn't; not really.

"I don't remember anyone worrying all that much when the last Hunter rolled into town." Her tone was nonchalant, but her eyes were watching every movement- the demons were twitchy. That was never good. To her surprise, Willy laughed- and he wasn't the only one. Several of the demons made sounds that, with humans, would have been considered laughter.

"Sure, sure, Cain was a Hunter. But… comparing these guys to Cain is like comparing a Lion to a house-cat, yeah? He was all easy fights and taking the low road and these guys, they're more blood and fiery vengeance, you know?" For just a second, Buffy thought she saw something human in Willy's eyes- something more like empathy and fear than greed and distrust. But it was just a second and then it was gone. "They're ruthless and they'll kill anyone who gets in their way and that's all I know... except, maybe they left something here for you." He glanced around him quickly as he handed over the pristine white envelope, before turning away and effectively dismissing her. Buffy just thanked him quietly, took it and left, her thoughts running wild. She didn't see the Vampire who watched her leave; his dark skin and dark suit blending into the shadows at the back of the bar.

Fingering the envelope, she was as oblivious to her surroundings as a Slayer could ever get. There was worse than Cain out there? She'd thought he'd been a fool, sure, but a dangerous fool. The thought that he was a mild-mannered version of the Hunter variety made her skin crawl. What the hell did these guys want, then? Vampire blood? Demon fangs? Slayer-on-a-stick? She needed to talk to Giles, ASAP, and her feet turned her in the direction of the library and she picked up her pace.

She wasn't sure she could kill humans, even to save herself. They were men; just men. She didn't want to take that step and become something other than protector. But… she'd learned her lesson with Angelus- wearing a face she could trust wasn't enough anymore. She'd condemned Angel's soul to an eternity in hell because she hadn't been able to end Angelus when she had the chance. She'd cost Jenny her life and Giles had been tortured; countless innocents had been killed.

She'd have to be sure, but next time, if there was a next time, she wouldn't hesitate to make the killing blow.

* * *

As the sun set, Xander retreated from the yard into his house, school books under one arm and moving slowly. Inside, his mom and dad were engaged in their nightly shout-it-out and he could really have lived without hearing about how bad their sex life was and whose fault that was. Scarred for life. Badly. As he stepped inside, the sound of laughter down the street caught his attention and he glanced toward the source. Kids, two of them, about his age and playing tag in the street. Xander envied their carelessness- he hadn't that safe after dark in Sunnydale in years, not since he'd learned the truth of what really bumped in the night. He thought about warning them to go inside; to get off the road before proper night fell but before he could act, their heads snapped to the house in unison and they were gone in seconds, disappearing inside and Xander just felt relieved. They were new; neighbors came and went pretty regularly on this side of town but he knew he hadn't seen them before, and the newbies were always the easiest prey.

He was sick of funerals; sick of the crappy casseroles that his mom made him deliver whenever one of the neighbors disappeared and turned up dead, or worse. His heart was heavy as he stepped over the threshold and heard his mother screeching that she should never have married his father. Sometimes, living on the Hellmouth was just one great big ball of suck.

* * *

A/N: This started as two chapters but somehow merged into one. If there are continuity errors, that's why, and apologies for missing 'em.


	9. What makes an ally

A/N: In Sunnydale again, directly after the previous chapter. Yay, continuity.

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN or BTVS. I know, so sad.

* * *

Giles wasn't surprised to find his Slayer barging into the library after closing hours- but she was certainly earlier than normal. When she started ranting about scary-psycho Hunters collecting Slayer body parts and thrust an unopened, creased and dirty envelope at him, he allowed himself a moment to clean his glasses before even trying to decipher her words. Experience had taught him that letting her rant it out before asking questions was more efficient in the long run. He took the envelope and opened it as she paced, waving her arms in the air for emphasis. He wasn't even half-listening as soon as he had the letter in his hands- the words too important to bear distraction.

Eventually, the Slayer stopped her hysterics and watched him read, recognizing his expression as on of growing dread and feeling the same in the pit of her stomach.

"What? What is it?" She squashed the fear; she'd killed the man she loved. Nothing could be worse than that.

"Several months ago, the Watcher's Council sent a team to Boston in search of the next Slayer."

"Kendra's replacement?" The words were harsh; describing any Slayer as replacement was unfair but Giles let it slide- Kendra had been her friend and Buffy had watched her die. He just nodded.

"They couldn't find the girl but they did run afoul of something that got them all killed horribly." He'd trained with some of them; knew them well, once, but the pain of their deaths had been overshadowed by grief for Jenny. "These Hunters claim that it was a Vampire named Kakistos and that he's in Sunnydale, or on his way here, to kill the Slayer and her Watcher."

"Just one Vamp, huh? We can handle one measly blood sucker." Buffy made a staking motion and smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"It's said that Kakistos is so old that his hands and feet have are cloven and that he no longer has a human face."

"Like the Master?" He still visited her nightmares and she suppressed a shiver.

"Worse." No-one had seen the ancient Vampire in two centuries, but Giles was sure he had an image of the monster somewhere. "If the Council have managed to rouse him and he truly is on his way to us, then we need to prepare. Kakistos is like nothing we have ever faced, Buffy- he has survived hundreds of wars and dozens of centuries… if these Hunters are correct then we have quite the fight on our hands." But why were the Hunters warning them by letter? And through Willy the Snitch, of all people? Why not come directly to the library and speak with him, or better still- pick up the phone and call him? He didn't recognize their names, but that wasn't surprising. The Watchers had few ties to the hunting community, such that it was. The Council, Giles recalled, had always deemed Hunters to be a necessary tool in the overall fight, but one which did not warrant contact. A time or two, he knew, there were territorial contests over who turned up first to finish a threat, or kill a demon, but mostly the two co-existed without difficulty. No difficulty he knew of, anyway.

So why the cloak and dagger routine? He asked the Slayer as much and was surprised to see her expression change to one of disgust.

"Maybe because they heard just how much love I don't have for Hunters? If they're in town, it's because they're looking for something out of it. Willy said as much- he said these guys are worse than Cain." She rolled her eyes, dismissive, but Giles felt something in his stomach clench. Worse than Cain could mean a lot of things, but he had a feeling he understood the barman's message better than the Slayer. Cain was an opportunist; a collector. Worse than that, from a demon's perspective, would be a fanatic; someone who hunted evil because evil existed, not because there was something to be gained from it. A natural ally of any Slayer, if she could be made to see it.

He said nothing, though, because she'd already turned her attention back to Kakistos and Giles obliged, telling her everything he could recall about the ancient Vampire and already beginning a mental list of which books might prove most useful in finding more.

When she finally left to finish her patrol, Giles retrieved the letter from his pocket and reached for the phone in his office. The phone number scrawled on the bottom of the paper was local and he dialed carefully.

"Yeah?" The gruff voice on the other end was almost exactly what he was expecting- suspicious, unfriendly and older. He was almost relieved that there was another adult on the phone.

"Uh, hello. Is this Robert Singer? My name is Rupert Giles and I'm-"

"I know who you are, Watcher." There was a level of disdain in the word that Giles wasn't used to. "You get our note?"

"Yes, yes, I did. My Slayer delivered it only moments ago. I must say, Mr. Singer, that this is quite worrying. Are you certain that it is indeed Kakistos that we are dealing with?" There was the sound of a scuffle on the other end of the line- as if the man were fighting with someone else for control of the receiver.

"Yeah, it's Kakistos alright and he's heading right for your girl. We'll be sticking around until this mess is cleaned up, so if you need help, you call this number and you let me know." Giles couldn't help but be a little relieved.

"What I really need is someone fluent in Latin who won't use my books as a coaster." There were rings on more than a dozen ancient tomes that were going to be there until the end of the world and it annoyed him every time he saw it.

"I'll be there in ten." And he hung up, leaving Giles blinking at the receiver in surprise. He hadn't meant that as a genuine plea for help (hadn't expected a Hunter to be fluent) but he was pleasantly surprised, nonetheless. Having another adult around (there hadn't been one since Jenny) would be a godsend, especially as it was likely that Buffy would run straight to the others and they'd descend on the library within the hour, like a pack of hysterical monkeys. Even as he thought it, he knew it was unfair but there was something to be said for the company of people his own age- mostly, that he didn't get enough of it. Plus, the opportunity to question one of the Hunters without Buffy around, worrying unnecessarily, was something he couldn't pass up.

* * *

"You're not going." Faith stated, voice calm and steady and not betraying the fact that she was blocking the door, stopping Bobby from leaving. Bobby scowled at her and reached forward, lifting her gently. She might be Slayer-strong and fast, but she still weighed almost nothing and he knew that she'd never hurt him.

"You know as well as I do that this is our chance to find out what they know. If he knows nothing about you or Dean then we can all saunter into the library like we've been going there our whole lives." Sam, standing behind Faith, made a face and replied for both of them.

"You shouldn't go on your own. We don't know anything about this guy!"

He knew they were worried; he knew they loved him and they were afraid that he would be eaten alive by scary Watcher-monsters. That was the only reason he didn't just leave without saying a word.

"I can handle myself just fine. You tell your Daddy where I'm gone when he gets back, and you'll see- John will agree with me." That gave them pause, just for a second. The thought that John might think it was a good idea was enough to stop them. He'd say no to any of the kids going in there, but he might actually agree that Bobby should go.

"You'll be armed, right?"

"Knives, guns and holy water."

"And you'll call if you need back-up?"

"What are you, my mother? I'll be back in time for you to tuck me in and sing me a lullaby." And with the last of his patience used up, Bobby sauntered out the door to his car. Sam and Faith watched as he drove off, taillights gleaming.

"We're following him, right?" Faith shouldn't have bothered asking- Sam was already pulling on his jacket and pocketing his favourite blade.

"Of course." He closed the front door after them, locking it in what was probably a futile attempt to protect their belongings. The house was warded against demons and any human that broke in would likely take one look at the collection of weapons in the living room and run, fast. They didn't have a car, so they would have to walk to the school and normally Sam would be nervous of doing something so stupid on a Hellmouth but his sister was a Slayer and there was another one patrolling the same town. He was quietly confident that they could handle anything that got thrown at them and he was certain that if he suggested differently, Faith would kick his ass herself.

They weren't far from the school, anyway, just twenty minutes at a pretty slow walk. Enough time for Bobby to get there and get inside and not see them as they picked the lock to the rear entrance and snuck inside. Sam had memorized the map of the school during their tour so he led the way to the library, careful to be as quiet as possible, even as Faith crept along beside him, soundless. Before she'd been Called she hadn't been nearly as stealthy. In his less gracious moments, it really annoyed him, but as he grew taller and stronger he was really beginning to appreciate his sister's extra muscle.

"Do we have a plan?" Faith shrugged, noncommittal.

"Stay in the shadows and only interfere if we hear Bobby screaming?" Her brother laughed and carefully closed the door behind them. He left it unlocked, just in case. They had to be able to make a quick exit because if they weren't home before their father, he'd kill them. Slowly, using many variations of the 'I'm so disappointed in you' stare. Not even Dean would be able to deflect the wrath of John, if they were caught sneaking around on the Hellmouth at night, alone, without leaving word. But, of course, they weren't really alone- they were with Bobby. Sort of. Just because he didn't know they were there, didn't mean he couldn't look out for them anyway- Bobby was awesome that way.

The found the library easily and ducked into a classroom down the hallway, within easy reach of their uncle and the Watcher who may (or may not) try something. Neither of them mentioned the fact that Bobby was plenty able to handle a few humans on his own, either by talking his way out or by smashing his way through them. That kind of logic wasn't for people who really, secretly, wanted some revenge on the shadowy international organization that had left their brother bruised and battered.


	10. What makes a First Impression

A/N: Direct continuation of Chapter 9.

Disclaimer: I still only own my car, and neither of these shows.

* * *

"Mr. Singer, I assume?" Giles took a moment to assess the man in front of him- bearded, older than him and carrying a small arsenal. Definitely a Hunter and not a man to be trifled with. Giles forced a grin and extended his hand, prepared for the strong grip and calloused palms. For all that the man was fluent in dead languages, he certainly didn't spend all his time with books and ciphers, if the scars on his hands were anything to go by.

"Mr. Giles. How can I help?" No small-talk, they were straight to business. Giles pointed out the reference books he needed to go through, searching for any reference to Kakistos- several of the texts were written in classical Latin, though not old enough for the language to be justified, which was frustrating. Scholars should not be allowed to compose the reference books, Giles thought, because they often assumed that only other scholars would wish to read them.

They worked in silence for twenty minutes, exchanging occasional words but otherwise focusing on the task at hand. Giles struggled to contain his curiosity and eventually it got the best of him.

"Mr. Singer, if you don't mind me asking, how exactly did you discover that Kakistos is on his way here?" He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but there was a brief flicker of something in the Hunter's eyes that told Giles that whatever he was about to tell him was a lie.

"Word on the grapevine- Kakistos didn't exactly tidy up after himself in Boston." It seemed to be almost true, but not wholly, and Giles met the man's stare with a raised eyebrow.

"And yet I hadn't heard of the deaths until your letter this afternoon. The Council were surprised, in fact, that I knew of them at all." He couldn't keep a hint of accusation from coloring his tone.

"Not my fault you don't talk to your own." And Bobby dropped his gaze back to the book he was studying, almost dismissively.

"No, I suppose it's not. Perhaps I should make more of an effort to remain in contact with the Council." He kept his eyes on the other man, regardless. "Has your grapevine heard any word on the new Slayer? Is there… could Kakistos have her, do you think?" The Hunter stilled and glanced up again, shaking his head slowly.

"Not that I know. Way I hear it, the Watchers looking for her in Boston found no sign of her. Girl hadn't been there in years." Giles breathed a sigh, relieved. He had been worried that the Vampire had already taken the girl; perhaps holding her prisoner. He would surely have been informed if she had been killed, but reading some of the stories of what Kakistos liked to do to his victims… he would have almost preferred she be killed quickly than live through the Vampire's plans. He said as much aloud, not surprised when Bobby agreed with him. Clearly, the man was also aware of what their enemy was capable of.

Their tentative alliance continued, delving back into the books, searching for any more information that could help against Kakistos. It was interrupted by the loud and untimely return of his Slayer, along with her friends. Giles suppressed a sigh and stood to intercept Buffy before she got to the table. Singer, to his credit, glanced around only once and went back to his book, ignoring the teenagers with the ease of someone who did it regularly.

Buffy was demanding to know what one of the 'old, Hunter guys' was doing in her library and why Giles was all of a sudden making nice with the enemy. The hypocrisy of the statement didn't seem to register with her and it was all Giles could do to stop himself from pointing out that it wasn't as if he were snogging the man.

"Buffy, this is Mr. Singer. He's here to help me with research and yes, he is one of the Hunters you saw the other night. I believe you admired his flamethrower?" Mentioning weapons was a surefire way to distract his Slayer, though Giles felt a little sheepish doing it.

"Oooh… can I see it? Did he bring it with him? Can I use it? Please?" Successfully diverting the girl toward the Hunter (who didn't seem too pleased, either) Giles busied himself with giving the rest of the children their tasks- Willow and Oz he asked to check the morgue and see if there had been any increase in the death toll locally, while Xander and Cordelia were seated with musty books before they had a chance to complain about being forced to research.

They were barely seated before the library doors swung open and the man Giles hated most in the world strode in, sneer in place.

"Do I even want to know what you're doing here after hours, Mr. Giles and what these delinquents are doing here, too? I know it's not learning; it couldn't be learning." Sneer firmly in place, Snyder sauntered toward the table and Giles groaned, trying to think of a suitable lie.

"Principal Snyder, I assume?" And suddenly, the mulish Hunter expression was gone and in his place was a steady, solid blue-collar worker; hand outstretched. "Bobby Campbell, sir, at your service. I believe you know my niece and nephews?" Snyder blinked once and then, to Giles' shock, he smiled.

"Of course, Mr. Campbell, it's a pleasure to meet you. Faith and Sam are such charming children and Dean is a wonderful young man." Giles stored the names for future reference and tried to get the children to stare less obviously. Xander was even asking Cordelia why the Hunter was calling himself Campbell when his name was Singer. Dear Lord, deliver him from oblivious idiots. "When Faith said they were here with their uncle, I knew I had to come and introduce myself. I am really looking forward to having them join us here."

And that was when Giles noticed the two teenagers standing behind Snyder; dark hair, bright eyes and bland smiles firmly in place. To his experienced eye, their body language was somewhat… abashed. The Watcher was willing to bet that if Bobby had known they were there, he certainly hadn't been expecting them to get caught- there had been no hint that there were more of them in town than just Bobby and John.

"The kids had only good things to say about your facility, sir. Now, I can't say that they're looking forward to going to school again, but your Mr. Giles here has assured me that there are plenty of other things to do here besides study." That was certainly true, though likely not the way Snyder would think. "And I can't help but think that my two will be such a good influence here." And with a smile and a compliment, Bobby disarmed Snyder's upcoming rant.

"Yes, well. I hope Mr. Giles is helping you fetch all the required texts? I wouldn't want the children to fall behind unduly. I've seen their transcripts; I know they'll be eager to get right to work." Bobby assured him that, yes, Mr. Giles was being very helpful and for once, Snyder left the library with a grin of real pleasure on his face.

The second the principal was gone, the children turned to Bobby, stumbling over apologies and promises not to do it again and how they'd do whatever he wanted forever if he promised not to tell their father.

Giles was happy to listen and learn, entertained by someone else having to deal with teenagers for once, until Xander piped up.

"Hey- I know you guys. You just moved in down the street from me."

Unfortunately, that brought the stranger's attention to their table and Giles found himself stilled under two assessing gazes.

"Yeah, what of it, chuckles?" The girl's- Faith, he assumed- voice was pitched low and full of scorn and Giles could guess what was going to happen next.

"Hey! Don't talk to Xander like that. You're the ones in our library, handling your little domestic." Buffy even added a hand gesture for emphasis and Giles felt like groaning as Willow and Cordelia chimed in their agreement.

The girl glanced at her brother and something obviously passed between them because she forcibly relaxed, rolling her shoulders and shutting her mouth. The girls looked a little smug, and her Watcher hoped that was the end of it.

"I, uh, assume you'll want to be heading home now, then? I can give you some of these texts to take with you if you wish-"

"You never let us take the books home." Willow actually sounded offended. "And now you're letting a complete stranger waltz in and take them? What if he doesn't come back? What if his sinister, underhanded, Hunter-y plot was to come in here and take our books?"

For a moment, there was silence. Even Bobby looked stunned and Giles opened his mouth to hopefully diffuse the situation before anyone else could say something. But he didn't get the chance. Instead, the door swung open again and, expecting Snyder to have returned, Giles pasted a pleasant expression on his face and turned.

But it wasn't Snyder; it was a tall, burly man in denim and flannel and toting a shotgun and he looked more furious than Giles thought possible.

"Hi daddy." If possible, the man's face darkened even further and Giles felt the urge to grab a weapon. In fact, his grip tightened on the book in his arms and he suddenly wished that he still carried knives.

"Faith. Sam. In the car, now." His children obviously caught something in his tone that the Watcher missed, and their expressions changed from wary to worried in seconds.

"What happened?"

"Where's Dean?"

"The Hellmouth happened. Your brother is missing. Let's go."

Giles barely had time to blink before the three Hunters moved, throwing out questions and half-sentences that made little sense to the Englishman.

"Wait, wait- if your son is missing on the Hellmouth, surely we can help? We've been patrolling here for years and Buffy knows the territory here better than anyone." The blonde girl nodded, all previous upset about strangers invading her territory gone in the face of a missing person.

John and Bobby exchanged a glance; Singer nodded and John seemed to relax a little.

"We were checking out the warehouses over near the docks, following word of a rabid animal in the area. I got knocked out and when I came to, Dean was gone. No blood, no trail, just gone."


	11. What makes a Minion

A/N: Where did Dean get to, anyway?

Disclaimer: Don't own jack. Or Dean, or Faith or any of the rest of 'em. :)

* * *

Dean fought his way back to consciousness, head pounding and concrete cold beneath him. He opened his eyes to darkness and bit back a groan. Every part of him was stiff and sore but he wasn't restrained; nothing holding him back when he rolled onto his side and slowly lifted himself to standing. His head swirled a little and he thought about vomiting, but he stayed on his feet and shuffled forward in the dark, arms outstretched, until he found a wall.

Ten minutes had drew a mental map of the room- one locked door, no windows he could reach, no light outside. Four walls, no furniture; the room felt like a cell. It would have been okay- well, not okay, but manageable- if Dean had been able to shake the feeling that he was being watched. In the darkness, his paranoia might be rising to new heights but it didn't feel like that. It felt as if there was something in the dark with him.

"Is there someone there?" He felt almost stupid, hearing his own voice echo a little. There was no response. "Guess not." Not someone willing to talk to him anyway- but on the Hellmouth, who knew? There could be a dozen angry spirits in the room and he wouldn't have been surprised. His weapons were gone- he'd known that the second he woke up and couldn't feel the blade against his ankle- but John Winchester hadn't raised any idiots and Dean had lock picks hidden in the seam of his jacket. Some in the seams of his jeans, too, but not the pair he was wearing, unfortunately. A few minutes liberated the picks and he made his way back to the door, stepping carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was trip over his own feet and knock himself out head-butting the door. His head alright hurt quite enough, thanks. He wasn't going to sit around talking to air when he could make a run for it. Hopefully.

The lock was old and rusting and it took him longer than it should have to open it- but it was dark, he was injured and had been kidnapped, so getting it open at all was a win. The hallway beyond was faintly lit, light spilling through gaps in the door-frame at the end of the hall. Some light was better than none and Dean moved silently in the hallway, checking each of the other rooms. All cells, all unlocked, all empty. That was surprisingly comforting- rescuing a bunch of civilians would have been far more difficult than just trying to get away. He brushed away the worry that his dad was hurt, or worse, and continued to the end of the hallway. Whoever had left him in there, must not have been expecting any trouble because there were no guards on the door that he could see.

As quietly as he could, he eased the door open and slipped through. He focused on keeping his breathing steady and hoped that he was the only one who could hear the pulse beating in his head; his wound was itchy, pulsing to the beat of his heart. He knew, too, that any of the nastier inhabitants of the Hellmouth would smell his blood from a mile away- he needed to get out of there, and fast, or he'd be dinner. Or worse- he'd be rescued. He hated needing to be rescued.

There was no room beyond, but stairs and Dean wondered briefly if he should stay at the bottom and wait. Would it be safer to try and lay in wait, weaponless, or make his way up there, weaponless? His head throbbed once and behind him there was the quiet snick of a door closing and he shivered. Paranoia or not, he wasn't going back into the dark with (maybe) something that might kill him. Decision made, he climbed the stairs cautiously but quickly, not willing to wait for something to come along and spot him. His body was pressed tight against the wall and the cold was seeping into his bones. Whatever this place was, they clearly hadn't bothered with heating it in a long, long time. The light, meager that it was, came from candles lining the walls and that almost made the Hunter stop in his tracks to laugh- seriously? Candles? Someone was polishing the cliché stick around here.

He was almost starting to get hopeful when he made it down the hall and started seeing windows again- blacked out, boarded up windows, but at least it meant he was likely above ground and if he could find something to stand on, he could get out and get gone, right? Of course, that was about the time that his luck changed and he found out just who had taken him.

"Huh. I really thought that you'd be dead by now. Interesting." Dean spun, instinctively falling into a defensive stance. The vampire facing him was well-dressed, appeared mid-thirties and his smirk made Dean want to punch him. Well, to be fair, Dean probably would have wanted to punch him anyway because, you know, vampire. Plus, he really did seem surprised to see the Hunter alive which was another tick in the 'there's a creepy thing in the basement' box. Dean decided to count that as a win because it meant he hadn't been hallucinating. That was good news- it meant his concussion wasn't as bad as he'd thought it was.

"Yeah, well, bigger and nastier things than you have tried." The vampire grinned and stepped a little closer. Dean was tensed, ready for a fight, until he saw the other three vamps behind him. He was good, no doubt about it, but he couldn't take four vamps unarmed and injured. Maybe he would need that rescue after all.

"I have no doubt. You Hunters don't seem to understand self-preservation." Dean actually laughed, shocking himself. He was still alive, wasn't he? "Though you are young for a Hunter- let me guess… you had a little girlfriend killed by a nasty demon and now you've vowed revenge on the underworld?" Dean could hear the sneer but ignored it and just shrugged.

"Something like that."

"So, you've gone up against a monster or two and think you're ready to face the Hellmouth? Silly boy. I almost feel sorry for you- ten, twenty years from now, with some experience under your belt, you might have been a worthy foe." Dean was kinda used to be underestimated, but it wasn't usual for the bad guys to monologue about it. He rolled his eyes and sneered back at the vamp, employing John Winchester scowl number three with the sole aim of pissing the vamp off.

"Why not let me go, and I'll come back for you when I'm more seasoned?" The vampires laughed and Dean suppressed a shiver. Creatures that laughed when they talked about eating him for dinner were capital F freaky.

"I like you, kid." The vamp stepped closer. "My name is Mr. Trick and I think the boss will appreciate you. You have… spunk." Dean caught himself before making a dirty joke, knowing it wouldn't be well received. Whatever else this guy was, he was a poser, playing at civilized and mannered, even though Dean could see the blood staining his suit. He'd fed, and recently, and Dean could only hope that it wasn't on his father's blood. "Grab him, boys, and the boss might even let us play with his insides when he's finished."

Dean knew exactly who the boss had to be, and he'd read enough of the reference texts to know exactly what Kakistos did to his victims. His eyes slid over the two vampires approaching him, calculating his odds. He'd rather go down fighting than be tortured to insanity, and he'd rather escape than go down fighting. Lefty was armed- a short dagger that wouldn't be much use against four vampires, so Dean ignored it- and Righty was holding an unlit wooden torch like a club. Dumbasses. All of them. He could smell the kerosene from four feet away. He moved quickly- feinting left and then spinning right, snapping a kick into Righty's groin and snatching the torch in one move.

The candles lining the walls had never seemed so far away, but Dean made it in two strides, thrusting the torch behind him and keeping his eyes on the vampires. Trick looked amused and the other three looked furious, striding forward with the typical minion strut and Dean felt the rush of heat and air that signaled his torch was alight and he let himself grin. In the shadow of fire, with blood marring his features and the torch reflecting in his gaze, he looked… menacing. Every inch the Hunter, and the approaching vampires slowed, just enough.

Goddamn, but minions were dumb as rocks- they came at him all together, sure, but so close together that they got in one anothers way and by the time Righty realized he was on fire, Lefty had the other end of the torch stabbed through his heart. The middle one took stock carefully and stayed out of arm's reach, darting in and jabbing punches at Dean's torso and a kick to his knee that left the Hunter on his back, his leg aching. The torch went spinning away and Dean braced himself for the end, teeth baring down on his neck as he struggled to stand, scrabbling for the torch or for Lefty's dagger or for anything at all that he could use as a weapon, but to no avail. He was one man- they were vampires (admittedly stupid) and he couldn't hope to win without the element of surprise on his side, could he?

He swung his elbow as the vampire descended, just connecting with the vamp's teeth, and he could feel the hot rush of blood on his arm; he couldn't feel the pain- what was a scratch when his knee was aching and his head was pounding? Lucky strike or not, the vampire was distracted for a moment; a flash of hunger in his eyes as he licked the blood from his fangs with an inhuman grin. The chance was small; miniscule, even, but Dean took it- striking up, hard and fast, with the dagger and opening the vamp's throat in a practiced motion. It fell back, trying to scream, and Dean lunged, driving the dagger into its throat and pushing as hard as he could, down and to the side.

Winchester luck normally sucked- there was no denying it- but when it came to life-or-death struggles, sometimes it struck gold and this was one of those times. Buoyed by adrenaline and desire to not die, the dagger sliced through flesh and muscle and the blood leaking onto him slowed and stopped as the vamp turned to ash. It was slow and agonizing, but Dean could barely see it. He just knew the weight on top of him was gone and he forced himself to stand, eyes blurry with blood and dust and dizziness, and face Trick. The vampire was clapping and Dean tightened his grip on the dagger and swallowed, blinking twice to clear his vision.

"Maybe you're not as useless as you look, kid. I like that in a mortal. How'd you feel about becoming one of us, huh? Hunter-trained vamps make for the best minions." Trick smiled blandly, hands clasped in front of him, standing at a safe distance. Dean kept the wall at his back and coughed a laugh, shaking his head almost sadly.

"Hate to break it to you dude, but I'm no-one's minion."

And then the Hunter cast his eyes over Trick's shoulder and raised one blood-covered eyebrow. The last thing that Mr. Trick ever saw was the Hunter's questioning expression. He didn't have time to turn and see who was behind him before the torch was thrust into his back. He looked surprised as he died; eyes wide and mouth open. The last thing he heard was someone behind him, growling.


	12. What makes a Rescue

A/N: Apologies- this was meant to go up immediately beside the previous chapter, but I got distracted. Oops?

Disclaimer: Don't own stuff, etc.

* * *

"Uh, dude, not that I don't appreciate the rescue, but do you think we could get out of here now?" Dean thought he was doing an admirable job of not freaking out, but the staring was starting to get to him. The staring and the nakedness. Oh, and don't forget that his rescuer was a freaking vampire. That too. But the dude had saved him, right? And as Dean was in no position to fight him off, he'd just have to play nice with the crazy captive vamp until he was far enough away to freak out and run. Or something.

He wasn't even sure the guy understood him but when he hobbled across the room, the vamp shuffled along after him, crouched low to the ground and making a weird whining sound in the back of its throat. Almost like a dog or something and Dean resisted the urge to pat him on the head and scratch behind his ears. He was stumbling along, using the wall to hold himself up, and super-conscious of the vampire trailing him. The hallways were quiet- thankfully- and when Dean stopped to try and figure out which way to go, the vampire moved in front of him and turned to the left, glancing back several times until he was certain that Dean was following him.

It turned out to be a smart move because Trick and his stooges hadn't been the only vampires around and the silent vampire ripped off several heads before they reached an exit. Dean was breathing heavily and struggling to stay upright by the time they reached fresh air- they emerged into the night not far from where he'd been taken, he thought. Salt in the air meant the docks, and he could only hope that his dad was around somewhere, waiting for him. Being outside, though, changed something in his rescuer- he retreated behind the Hunter again, making those weird whining sounds again and almost (almost, because Dean wouldn't let him actually) hugging Dean's good leg.

"Come on, Sparky, we've gotta get out of here before the boss-man shows." His dad was going to give him that what-the-hell-were-you-thinking look, but Dean really didn't think he had any other options. He took the vampire's shoulder and tugged him along; barefoot, the creature shuffled behind Dean again and the Hunter took slow, steady steps away from the warehouse and back toward where he'd last seen his dad. It wasn't far, thankfully, because his knee was swelling pretty badly and he could barely bend it anymore. The Impala was gone and when he checked, his dad wasn't anywhere around. Dean hated to do it- he really, really hated the idea of leaving someone stranded at the docks with no way out- but broke the window in the driver's door of the only car in the parking lot and unlocked it without pausing.

He let the vampire into the back seat and went to work under the steering wheel, thankful that the car had an automatic gearbox, so he could just rest his injured leg and not do anymore damage. It was really freaky, driving without being able to see his passenger in the rear-view mirror.

"We've gotta get back to the house, I think. Bobby will know where dad is and if he doesn't, we'll get back down here to find him. And I'll get you some clothes because no-one needs to see what you're showing, dude." Hopefully Bobby wouldn't shoot first because the strange vamp had saved his life more than once and, well, the dude was clearly bat-shit crazy. He couldn't even talk and he kept gazing at Dean with big brown eyes that reminded him of Faith when he'd first met her- confused, scared and completely unsure. "I won't let them hurt you, okay? You'll be fine." Oh god, he was making promises to a vampire.

Maybe he'd been imprisoned for longer than he thought and he'd actually gone crazy himself? He considered it for a second, but decided it was unlikely. If all this was in his head then he wouldn't be in so much frigging pain, surely. Either way, the vamp seemed to like it when he talked, so Dean kept talking- telling him that they were safe; they'd be okay; that John and Bobby would fix everything. He tried to keep the pain out of his voice because when he let it show, the vamp whimpered too and jeez, but the guy was already so broken-looking that Dean couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

The lights were out when he got the house and neither of the cars were there. Dean cursed, loudly. The hell was he supposed to do now? Dad must have come back already and rounded up the troops to go back and get Dean, he thought. Turning in his seat, he eyed the vampire.

"Stay here. I'll be back in, like, five minutes." He wasn't sure if he could get the vamp past the wards and he wasn't sure if he wanted to- this was his family's safe house and yeah, they could probably handle one crazy vampire if they had to, but he'd seen the guy ripping off heads without making an effort, so he'd rather not risk it. Plus, leading a naked man into your house in the middle of the night was the kind of creepy behaviour that got the police called. Granted, he didn't even know what time it was, so maybe it wasn't the middle of the night yet- Sunnydale was always quiet after the sun went down.

He hobbled up the steps to the house and, thankfully, door was unlocked. He'd left his picks behind and he wasn't sure he could climb in a window. The house was empty, as he'd expected. He grabbed the phone first, dialing John's cell with one hand and turning on the cold water with the other, rinsing the vamp dust off his face and gulping down a pint to wash it out of his mouth and throat. John's phone rang out; no answer. He was willing to bet it was on the floor of the warehouse, somewhere, along with Dean's own. He tried Bobby and got a busy signal. Sam had a phone, too, but he could see it on the table by the door and Faith's had been broken in the last fight and hadn't been replaced yet. Shit. What was the point of cell phones if no-one carried them? He was going to staple Sam's cell to him next chance he got.

Where else could they have gone? He drew a blank. They'd been in town for three days- where the hell could they be, apart from looking for him? And if they were looking for him, they'd be back at the warehouse, toe to toe with big ugly and looking for him. Dammit. He tried Bobby's cell again and got the busy signal. Thinking quickly, he dry-swallowed some aspirin, grabbed a pair of Sam's sweats and one of his own tees for the vamp in the backseat and armed up; knives and guns and holy water and anything else he could strap to his body. He considered the knee brace, but unless the vamp could help him get it on, he couldn't bend his leg to pull it up, so he'd have to do without. He was in no condition to fight, but he'd be damned if he'd let them head in there alone.

Halfway down the driveway, talking the vamp through the process of putting on pants, he realized that there was one other place in town that he could try for help. His dad was already going to kill him for hanging out with vampires, so what was a Watcher on top of that? At least if he turned up with the other Slayer in tow, he wouldn't be a complete liability.

"What do you think, Sparky? Should we go find a Slayer?" He didn't see it, but the vampire made a face at the word Slayer; almost recognition. Almost awareness.

* * *

The mood in the library was tense but focused. Giles had pulled maps of the town out of his office and Willow had the corresponding maps open on the computer, cross referencing who owned what and which buildings were empty. Faith paced nervously near the door and only belief in her dad and Sam's occasional comments kept her from running out of the school and straight to her brother. Well, straight to where they were pretty sure her brother was.

"What the hell were you thinking anyway, wandering around the Hellmouth at night?" The brunette girl- Cordelia- asked with no anger in her tone, just… disbelief. "You guys are Hunters, right? Aren't you supposed to know better?" Faith could see the words hit her dad and he took a deep breath, swallowing whatever angry response was boiling up. Bobby spoke for him, instead.

"Following a lead on a rabid animal, girl, and the idea was to stop it before someone died."

"But that's the Slayer's job." The blonde girl had made a point of introducing herself as the Slayer but Faith hadn't been nearly as forthcoming. Now that she knew who it was, though, she thought she could feel something; like the itch on her spine that told her that vampires were nearby, but different. Weaker. The blonde Slayer didn't seem to notice anything, or if she had, she hadn't given any sign of it.

"If it's her job, then where was she?" Surprisingly, it was Sam who snapped, worry over his brother and fury at the delay finally driving him over the edge. Buffy's head snapped in his direction and her eyes narrowed, not liking the criticism in his tone.

"Hey! This isn't my fault. I was doing my job- I was patrolling tonight when I had to make a diversion to deliver that stupid letter to Giles!"

"Patrolling? That's what you call aimlessly wandering around town until something evil accidentally crosses your path?" Sam even scoffed, folded his arms across his chest and muttered something unpleasant about amateurs. Faith would have laughed if her heart and stomach weren't in knots with worry.

Bobby jumped in, anyway, before they could get to anything good.

"Sam, it's not Buffy's fault. Your brother knows well what being a Hunter means." He turned to Buffy, then, his expression hardening a little, "And that letter was a warning, meant to protect you. You could show a little gratitude." The blonde blushed and ducked her head. Sam would have gloated a little, except Bobby glared at him until he ducked his head, too. John glanced over and met her gaze and tried to smile; tried to reassure her that everything would be okay, but it didn't really work. That he tried was nice, though.

"We have to move out. We're wasting time." Her father nodded his agreement and Bobby, too. Sam moved to stand behind her, a comfort even when her whole body was vibrating.

"Let's go." Decision made, John made to move out the door, stopped suddenly by the movement of a tiny blonde.

"Hang on one second- this is my town, and we're not going in there until we know what we're arming for. I can't let you get yourself killed." She was earnest; she really did care, and John felt almost sorry that they hadn't told her the truth. Maybe she'd be more confident of going with them if she knew that Faith was a Slayer, too. But they didn't have time to deal with that ball of crap, so he stepped to the side and moved out the door, Bobby at his back.

"We arm for bear. You come or you don't." He was halfway to the door when it opened and he tensed automatically. Buffy was in front of him -he never even saw her move-, but Faith and Sam were closer to the door and they took point, falling into defensive stance immediately.

"Oh good. You're all here. That's handy." And his boy- his beautiful, smart, crazy boy limped into the library, using the shotgun in one hand as a crutch. "I found Kakistos."

For a second, no-one reacted, and then Faith was at her brother's side, running her hands over him with the efficiency of a field medic. John left that bit to her- he just pulled the boy into his arms and felt his heart relax. Sam was at his side and Bobby was there somewhere too and part of John was aware that this was a completely embarrassing display of affection but right then, he really didn't care.

And then he realized that the door behind Dean was standing open, and that there was a vampire wearing Dean's favourite shirt crouched on the ground in the doorway. He moved slowly, it seemed, twirling to put his body between his children and the newcomer, ignoring Dean's cry of pain as his leg gave out and he crashed to the ground, taking Faith with him. Sam and Bobby had their weapons raised; pointing at the vampire, before John even remembered that he was armed.

"Wait! Don't hurt him- he saved my life!" Dean, limping worse than before, pushed past his father to stand beside the vampire. "Dad, this is Sparky. Sparky, that's my dad. I have no idea what's wrong with him, but he saved my life like, six times tonight." He glanced down at the vampire, who was watching him with wide eyes. "He's not all there, but he seems kinda harmless."

And then, through the crush of bodies, Dean caught sight of the pretty blonde Slayer, who looked completely and utterly shocked; deathly pale and heartbroken.

"Angel?" She breathed, taking a step forward. "Angel, is that really you?" At his side, Sparky growled and backed away, shaking his head violently.

"Who's Angel?" Sam's words were quiet, but they carried, and it was Cordelia who answered him.

"Angel, vampire cursed with a soul, all-round good guy until his curse broke and he killed a bunch of people and then he got his soul back but Buffy had to send him to hell."

"That'd definitely explain the crazy." Dean commented.


	13. What makes a Dance

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate the feedback and the kind words and I hope y'all enjoy this.

Disclaimer: I don't own squat. Specifically: I don't own SPN or BTVS. Kripke and Whedon, respectively, are the gods of their worlds.

* * *

The library was quiet and divided; Dean sat by the table, suffering first aid at his father's hands with Bobby, Faith and Sam ranged behind him like some weird over-protective secret service detail. The-vampire-formally-known-as-Angel was crouched on the floor by his feet, staring at him. Well, staring at him and occasionally glancing at the blonde Slayer only to turn back to Dean, confused. Dean wasn't sure what to make of it, but he'd worry about that later- when the room stopped spinning in lazy circles and he couldn't hear his pulse beating in his head.

"We should move against Kakistos before he has a chance to recover his numbers." Bobby muttered, his voice pitched low so that the other Slayer and her people wouldn't hear. The Sunnydale gang was gathered by the check-out desk, agitated and nervous. Their Slayer had gotten her colour back, but she seemed to be holding herself back from racing across the room to the vampire. Dean repressed a shudder at the thought of falling in love with the enemy- literally. Sure, the vamp had saved his life, but that didn't change the fact that he was a vampire; a corpse, animated by a demonic spirit. Talk about twisted. He could only hope that weakness for the undead wasn't a Slayer thing- Faith had enough trouble already without adding vampire romances to the mix. Plus, he'd totally kill anything that looked at her that way and his job would be infinitely harder if he was fighting off demons, too.

He tuned back in to hear his dad asking him about the warehouse layout and he startled, a little, when Faith put a pen and paper into his hands. He'd only zoned out for a second, so the worried faces were completely unnecessary. He sketched a layout quickly, marking every detail he could remember, wishing that his vision would clear enough to get the lines straight. The Watcher wandered over to see and it wasn't long before a three-way debate about the best approach sprang up between the older men. Bobby and John, for once, agreed on almost everything- it was almost worth being kidnapped and beaten up to see that happen. He said as much; Faith and Sam stifled laughs and John shot him a dirty look. At his feet, Angel held his head at an angle, quizzical.

"Have we got anything we can feed him? God only knows how long he was held down there and I've been leaking blood for as long as he's known me. He must be starving." Faith raised an eyebrow in question but said nothing- she rooted through John's bags, instead.

"You can't keep him. He's not a puppy." Sam came to stand next to his brother and looked down at the vampire. He was still staring at Dean, though, and didn't even glance at the younger man.

"I know that, dude, but he saved my ass, so the least we can do is feed him, right?" Sam couldn't argue with that- Dean was still alive, after all. Faith took that moment to toss a full jar in Dean's direction and, luckily, her aim was true because his coordination sucked.

"Lamb's blood? Gross." But Dean still twisted the lid open and held the jar out in offering. Angel sniffed delicately, pushing his nose almost into the jar; nudging it with his face. His vampire face emerged and Dean felt Faith tense at his side. He was pretty sure that everyone was watching and Faith took a step sideways, positioning herself to rip the vamp off him if something got out of hand.

Angel didn't quite know how to manage it. Dean figured he was stuck in 'bite' mode and couldn't figure out another way, so he tilted the jar and let the blood flow onto the vamp's lips.

"This is the single grossest thing I have ever done." He'd had to force-feed his unconscious, feverish, delirious family a time or two so he understood the theory- but this was the first time he'd had to feed something blood and that was disgusting on a whole new level. The vampire drank every drop, though, and looked up at Dean with yellow, grateful, eyes and Dean remembered his brother's 'puppy' comment and almost laughed. He'd seen Angel fight and he knew the vampire was far from a puppy- he was scary and dangerous; of that, there was no doubt. "Have we got any more?" Faith shook her head and put the jar back in John's bag. She'd been lucky to find one that was relatively fresh and not congealed and even more disgusting.

"You want me to go get some?" The others might not get it, but Faith could kind of understand why someone would latch onto Dean. He'd been her hero since she was ten years old and she never felt safer than when he had her back, even as a Slayer. She got it; there was something about Dean that just made everything better. Sam knew that; her dad and Bobby felt it, too. They just didn't know what it was or where it came from, because they'd always had Dean. She remembered not having him, so she knew the difference.

So, she might not trust the Angel-creature, but she trusted Dean and she knew that whatever she saw in the vamp's eyes wasn't harmful or dangerous; no blood-lust; no rage. Just something indescribable that she recognized from her own reflection.

He was weighing the options. She could tell by the concentrated stare and the way his shoulders hunched forward. Slowly, he nodded.

"If dad says you can, then yeah." He met her gaze and grinned. "And take Sammy with you, will ya? His hovering is driving me crazy." Sam scowled as his brother and sister laughed and Faith bounced away to ask her dad for permission. John wasn't thrilled with the interruption but he cast an assessing gaze over his eldest and the boy's new shadow and nodded quickly.

"Get there, get gone, and get back here." Faith's grin widened and she grabbed Sam by the arm and pocketed the keys to the Impala. She was normally only allowed to drive it in a life-or-death scenario but hey, she was on the Hellmouth and there was someone's life in the balance. Sort of.

Faith lingered by the Sunnydale crew on her way out the door. The watcher had been watching her and so she spoke to him, ignoring the itch on her back that meant Slayer, as well as the scornful glances that several of the Sunnydale teens were sending her way. The little short guy, Oz, was the only one who didn't seem to find her lacking, though she could tell that he was in no position to cast stones. Whatever else these guys did or didn't do, they seemed to hate Hunters- and with a werewolf and a vampire as part of their gang, she could kinda see why.

"You know a place I can get some blood for Sparky? Dean thinks he's probably starving." The other Slayer wore a pinched expression but Faith ignored it.

"Yes, certainly. There's a butchers not far from here that sells blood at any time." He took a pen and paper and sketched a quick map. "Go around the back and knock three times- if they ask, tell them that Giles sent you." He handed the paper to Sam, who took it with thanks, and glanced across at John and Bobby. "Are you sure you'll be okay out there alone? Kakistos is likely irate and his people have already injured your brother." The concern was… unexpected, especially for a watcher and a man who already had teenagers in the field.

"We're cool. We have the car and we'll be there and back in ten." Faith just wanted to get out; fresh air and freedom for precious few minutes. Of course, she knew she was a Slayer and he didn't, so the concern was warranted.

"Buffy, why don't you accompany them? I would hate to see anything happen to anyone else this evening." Faith shot a half-panicked look at her dad but John inclined his head toward the door and smiled at her. A soft, encouraging smile that he only ever used with Faith and she knew what it meant. The knot of panic in her stomach tightened as Buffy made her way out the door in front of her. Sam, at her side, tried to make conversation with the other girl but was soundly ignored.

She was silent until they got to the car, uttering thanks to Sam when he held the door open for her and issuing terse directions to the butcher's shop. She insisted on being the one to go to the door, leaving the Winchesters in the relative safety of the car.

"She's not exactly brimming with friendly, is she?" They watched the blonde approach the shop and disappear into the darkness of the alleyway beside it.

"No, but her vampire boyfriend has just been returned from hell and is currently playing court jester to our brother. That's kind of… big." True. Faith supposed she could accept that.

"Dad wants me to tell her." Sam didn't seem surprised. "I don't know if I want to. I don't want… I don't want them to think that they have any claim on me. This is her Hellmouth; it's her place. My place is with my family." The unspoken truth was that John Winchester could never stay on the Hellmouth, not for long anyway. He would never settle anywhere and neither would Dean and Faith couldn't see herself separated from either of them.

"You'll always have a place with your family, Faith, whether you're with them or not." His words were just as much for himself as they were for her and Faith knew that. Sam wasn't like the rest of them, not really. He wanted so many things- things that Faith had accepted a long time ago that she could never have. She hadn't ever really missed them, since. She'd had normal for ten years and normal had sucked more than not-normal. At least with not-normal, she had brothers who loved her and a father who would take a bullet for her and a purpose in the world.

Later, she would blame her morose thoughts for why she didn't notice that Buffy was taking too long. The other Slayer was gone for almost ten minutes before either Faith or Sam thought to check on her- she was a Slayer and she was on her own turf, running a freaking errand. How much trouble could she have gotten into?

"We should check. Just in case." She'd been sent with them to protect them and Buffy getting hurt had never been part of the plan. Faith took point, moving silently into the alleyway. On the ground, there were several large jars of blood, carefully placed by the alley wall. The metal door was closed and though she knocked several times, no-one answered.

There was no sign of Buffy and the sinking feeling in Faith's stomach told her exactly how worried she should be.

"Go back to the school and mount up- I'm going after her." Sam tried to protest but Faith ignored him, forcing him back into the car and retrieving her favourite machete at the same time. Sam had the presence of mind to remember the blood. "I can't let her get hurt because I wasn't paying attention, okay? That's on me." It was her voice, but Sam could hear his father and his brother echoing in the words.

"Straight to the docks, Faith. We'll meet you there." She nodded once and watched as he started the engine. The Impala rumbled away, the sound of the engine breaking the silence. As the tail-lights faded in the distance, Faith took a deep breath, scenting wind and earth and bringing up the piece of her that was wholly Slayer and not at all girl.

Sunnydale was small. Everything and everywhere was tightly packed and Faith had studied the town maps when they first arrived. Running flat out, she reached the docks in just shy of seven minutes, a trip that would only be quicker by car if all the speed limits were ignored. She was certain that her father would ignore all the speed limits, so the cavalry couldn't be more than five minutes behind her. But she wouldn't wait- she hit the docks and scented her brother's blood immediately; a trail obvious to those who could smell it. The fury boiling in her stomach didn't overpower the itch on her spine that meant the other Slayer was close, too.

She covered the distance quickly and quietly, concentrating on that itch of presence and ignoring anything else; the itch was Slayer and Vampire and enemy and hatred and anger and headheartfistsfury and time was slowed to a standstill as she skipped through it, scaling the north-face of the warehouse quickly and entering through the roof entrance. On silent feet, she moved down the stairs, her machete dangling loosely from one hand and a sturdy stake in the other. Her breath was ragged and she stopped for a second, forcing herself to still and calm and not be caught. Luck was with her, it seemed, because the vamps weren't watching the roof stairway. Dean's dance earlier had cut their numbers, she supposed, and the outposts would be the first to be scaled back. That or they were really dumb. It was hard to know which was more likely.

The reason for their absence, as it turned out, was option number three- vamp gathering on the main floor of the warehouse to watch their Master mutilate the Slayer. Buffy was conscious and lying spread-eagle on the ground, tied at the hands and feet to metal stakes driven into the ground. Faith wasn't sure she'd be able to break out of it- or certainly not quickly enough to stop the monster looming above her from ripping out her throat. As it was, he was talking; monologuing about taking away the watcher's pet to teach them a lesson about encroaching on his territory and blah, blah, blah. Faith counted six others; minions, every one of them, wearing that glassy-eyed stare that came from being idiot undead. She stayed in the shadows and crept down the next flight of stairs, approaching from behind Kakistos and waiting, holding her breath and slowing her heart beat to maintain the element of surprise.

"When you weep, I will cut out your eyes. When you scream, I will remove your tongue. When your skin rips, I'll stitch it with blades until all that is left of you is ribbons of blood and pain and if you were able to talk, you'd beg for death." Faith could see the blonde shiver, but she'd give the girl props- she showed no fear and she didn't rise to the bait.

"I don't know about you, but I don't think Slayers are the begging types." Everyone turned to look at her, Buffy included- hers were the only eyes wide with fear and concern. The rest looked… hungry. She staked the first two before they even realized she was a Slayer. "I know I'm not, that's for sure."

"You're a Slayer." Kakistos moved, turning his back on Buffy and advancing on Faith. "Two in one evening. I shall paint the walls with your blood and-"

"What I'm hearing is blah, blah, blah. If you want my blood, come get it." He growled, almost roared, furious at being interrupted. He moved quicker than she'd expected, lunging forward and catching her with a blow to the stomach that knocked the breath from her lungs and she fell to the ground, forcing her body to tuck and roll even as she fought for air. He was fast and strong, but she was a Slayer and this was the dance she'd been made for- dodging and weaving and taking her shots where she could get them.

She drew first blood, slicing across his face with her machete and following through the swing to behead the other vamp creeping up behind her. Cowards.

"That the best you can do, Kakistos? Can't handle one little girl without backup?" Three minions left, and big daddy himself. He'd regained control of himself, though, and she couldn't help but regret it. He was old; old meant experienced. Experienced meant difficult to rile, though dammit, she'd give it her best shot. "What am I saying? You couldn't even keep one measly human prisoner for more than what, a half hour? That's just embarrassing. If I were you, I'd be begging to be staked before anyone found out about that one."

He growled, moving in close and catching her with a glancing blow to the head. It stung and she felt the tell-tale dripping of blood but she was conscious and still able to talk, so she shrugged and laughed and sliced at his thigh with a low cut, slicing to the bone on his shin. And with every step, she moved him further from the elder Slayer; gave Buffy another second to free herself and join the fight; gave her father another second to get here and end it all; earned herself another second toe-to-toe with the strongest vamp she'd ever fought.

She was distracted, thinking about it, and he reached out and grabbed her machete-arm, crushing her forearm and driving her to her knees with an overwhelming flare of pain. She couldn't hold back the scream and she remembered his threat to the other Slayer about her tongue and swallowed a second, twisting her arm, instead, and ignoring the crack as the bone broke and she was free, spinning on her knees and thrusting up with her stake, hitting him dead-on target and scrambling away desperately when he didn't dust; didn't crumble to ash. Instead, he pulled the wood from his chest and laughed and laughed.

"It's going to take more than a little stake to kill me, little girl."

Faith managed a smile, an approximation of Dean's 'you're so fucked' grin that looked a little out of place given the blood and the broken arm.

"So we'll use a big stake." Buffy called out. Her voice was a little shaky but her aim was true and the cross-beam practically bisected the vampire. He crumbled to dust with disbelief in his eyes. The remaining three minions scattered, but judging by the sounds outside, they didn't get far. John Winchester's growl was distinctive, even over the screams of dying vampires.

"So. You're a Slayer."

"Thanks for the rescue. I really wasn't expecting that to not work." Faith scooped up her fallen weapons, shoving the stake into her waistband and holding the blade in her good hand.

"Me either. And, uh, thanks. For coming for me."

"That's the job. Saving people. Hunting things." The blonde looked confused but Faith just waved it off. "Let's get out of here before my dad comes in and gets all embarrassing." She was limping, a little, and her arm and head ached like she'd been beaten (oh, wait, she had) but her sister-Slayer grinned and wrapped her arm around her shoulder, gently.

"Oh, I think there's going to be plenty of embarrassing to go around. Giles is never going to let me hear the end of this." She shook her head as they walked forward, slowly. "I got jumped at the butchers. How humiliating."


	14. What makes a Slayer

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN or BTVS.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has been reading, and for the reviews. I do love to hear from y'all.

* * *

The hospital insisted on keeping her in overnight, worried about her head injury. They'd set her arm and cast it, but Faith could already feel the bones mending beneath the cast. It was itchy, but she refused to scratch. Dean had threatened that if she scratched, he was going to sign her up for home economics in her next school- and that was threat enough that it worked against any number of things.

John and Sam had stayed for hours, until her cast was in place and she was put into a private room to sleep off the drugs. John promised he'd be back to collect her at noon, whether the hospital agreed or not. She'd have to be gone by then because she'd already be halfway healed by the next evening and she didn't want to be the miracle patient. Plus, you know, fake insurance. Before he left, her dad had pressed a kiss to her forehead and told her he was proud of her and the moisture in her eyes was not tears, thank you very much.

She slept well, all things considered. The staff woke her every two hours as a precaution but by morning she was rested and ready to leave, except for her arm. She wasn't expecting visitors- John would be back at noon and Sam with him, and Dean couldn't walk in the door without someone putting him in a room. So, she wasn't expecting visitors but shortly before eight am, she got one anyway.

Buffy wasn't quite the last person she'd expected to see, but she certainly hadn't thought the other Slayer would visit. She looked uncomfortable and Faith waved her in with a forced smile.

"You come to visit the injured, too? Are you a girl scout or a Slayer?" It was a joke- a poor one- and Buffy smiled, relaxing a little as she settled into the hard plastic chair by the bed.

"On the weekends, I read to the blind and feed the pigeons." Faith even laughed, appreciating the effort more than the humor. She didn't know what else to say, anyway. "So. Slayer, huh?" There was no accusation in her tone, which was a relief. They hadn't had much of an opportunity to speak the night before; once John Winchester had seen the blood on her face and the twisted mess of her arm, he'd whisked her away without even saying goodbye.

"Yeah." Faith twisted the bed-cover with her good hand, nervous. "We didn't tell you right away because Hunters aren't exactly huge fans of the Watcher's Council. Dad wanted to make sure you guys were on the level." To her surprise, Buffy looked sympathetic.

"Giles is pretty much the only watcher I know and I couldn't do the job without him, but the rest..." Buffy just shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah, Giles gets a pass because he was concerned about me. Well, not me-me, but Slayer-me before he knew it was me. The rest… If I never meet another one, it'll be too soon." She fiddled with the remote control for the T.V, nervous but trying not to be. The other Slayer was older, more experienced, confident and pretty and she had a group of friends that seemed to love her. She had a home, even if it was on the Hellmouth. Faith wasn't used to feeling different or not good enough, but she felt the tug of it now and desperately wished that one of her brothers were there with her. She hadn't felt so unsure of herself in years.

"I remember when I met him first; he was all stuffed-shirt and tea-drinking. I thought I'd hate him but he's really come through for me." And suddenly Buffy was talking; speaking of how she'd run away and her Watcher had spent the summer covering for her; hiding her absence from the Council. How she'd been so damaged by having to kill Angel and how her Mom had told her not to come home if she left and that Giles had been the one who hadn't given up on her. Faith saw the look in her eyes and realized that, for Buffy, Giles wasn't just her Watcher. Maybe that was what the Council wanted- they wanted to give girls a Watcher they could rely on; who could be their father in all but name.

Faith already had one of those. Two, if she counted Bobby. She didn't need another.

"Dad isn't really my father." She hadn't said the words aloud in years and she wasn't sure why she was saying it now, but there was some urge in her to connect; she wanted the other girl to like her. "I don't know who my father is but Dean found me when I was ten years old and he decided I was family and dad has been my dad ever since." Buffy looked startled but her features relaxed into a smile after a second.

"I would never have guessed." The blonde couldn't help but wonder if the Hunters had known Faith was a potential Slayer but, wisely, she decided not to ask. "You look just like Sam." And Sam looked a lot like John. On happier days, Faith liked to think that someone was looking out for her- Angels, maybe, like Dean's mom had told him when he was a kid. On her bad nights, Dean told her that, too. Funny, now, because there was a dude named Angel watching Dean, though Faith doubted that was what Mary Winchester had meant. She choked back a laugh at the thought, disguising it as a cough instead.

"Family doesn't end with blood." Bobby's words and Bobby himself was proof of it. Faith was pretty sure Buffy would get it, too.

"True. Very true." She bit her lip and glanced up at Faith, nervously. For the first time, Faith saw that the other girl was anxious, too, and something inside her relaxed a fraction. "Kendra, the girl who came before you, she told me that her family had let the Council take her when she was just a kid. She said it was a huge honour for them, to have a daughter who might be Chosen." Buffy scowled. "She died all the same and there was nothing honorable about it. She was just a dead girl." Faith didn't need to ask to know that Buffy had been there; seen it. She understood, suddenly, why the other girl had been so determined the night before, driving the beam through Kakistos- she wasn't going to let a second Slayer die in front of her.

"She saved people. She made a difference. There's honor in that." In the lives she'd saved, despite the death that had ended her. Buffy shrugged and blinked away the sheen of tears.

"She was sixteen years old." It was very young.

"She was a fighter." Faith would die, if she had to. She didn't want to, no. "I've seen my family throw themselves in front of demons to save people they don't know. There's honor in that, regardless of how you die." Whether Buffy agreed or not, she couldn't tell, but the other girl fell silent for a beat.

"Giles has to tell them that you're here, you know. The Council." Faith couldn't help but scowl, the mere idea of watchers setting her on edge.

"Has he told them already?" Buffy was a little taken aback by the ferocity in the other girl's tone. "Because if he has, then I need to be gone, post haste." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, reaching out with her good arm to grab the phone from the bed-side table.

"Yeah, I think he called London last night." She sounded confused. "I called him this morning and-" She was cut off by Faith standing up and dialing, pressing the handset between her shoulder and ear and pulling her jeans on one-handed.

"Dad? Come get me. Buffy says that her Watcher spilled the beans last night." She listened carefully, even as she ripped off her hospital gown and started forcing her casted arm through the sleeve of her shirt. Her pendant dangled between her breasts; the metal cool against her skin. "I'll see you then. Cool." She hung up and pushed her trainers onto her feet without bothering with socks or laces before turning to Buffy. "Walk me out?"

"Wait, wait, wait! You can't just walk out of the hospital! I don't even know why you're leaving- what's going on?" Faith felt a little sorry for the girl, but she knew she owed her one, too.

"Come on; I'll tell you on the way." They had no problems leaving- Faith strode out the front door as if she had never been injured and with Buffy at her side, she looked more like a visitor than a patient. "Hunters don't like the Council because when girls get Called, they get taken away from their families and pushed onto the front-lines." Faith bit her lip, nervous, glancing around her for anyone that might be Council. Paranoid, perhaps, but she was Hunter-raised, after all. "Dad wasn't gonna let that happen and Bobby had a way to hide me from their spells, so…"

"I wasn't taken away from anyone- I live with my Mom." Buffy wasn't sure if she was trying to protest or trying to explain, or if there was a difference.

"But you live on the Hellmouth." There was a 'Duh' implied in her tone and Buffy conceded the point with a nod. "I'm a Hunter first; and Hunters go where the evil is. Right now, that means we're going where my dreams take us. I have backup already; I have a team looking after me and fighting with me. I have no intention of giving that up to be the Council's bitch."

They fell silent and all Faith could hear was her own breathing. Her arm throbbed a little but the pain was only a distraction.

"There was no rumour, was there? You had a dream and it brought you here to save me." Faith just nodded. "I don't really get it, but thank you. For coming." She sounded sincere and the younger girl forced herself to smile.

"Hey, it's no big. It's the job." Her smile grew as she caught sight of the Impala turning in to the parking lot. "I'm outta here." She took a few steps before glancing back. "If I give you a number, will you keep it to yourself? To call, if you need backup?" She didn't think she could just leave; just like that. It was too… unfinished.

"Or if I need someone who understands the Slayer thing?" There was almost hope in the other girl's voice, so Faith just nodded though she wasn't sure what 'the Slayer thing' was. "Yeah. I'll keep it quiet. I promise."

Buffy retrieved a pen from her book-bag and Faith scrawled a number across the inside of one of her folders.

"That's Dean's number. Call him and I'll be wherever he is. But I swear to god, if the Watchers track me down through this, Slayer or not I will kick your ass." She delivered the words with a grin but Buffy saw something in her eyes.

"They caught you, didn't they? They did something?" She couldn't imagine anyone trying to take her from her mother. And at fifteen, too. The thought made her heart ache.

"Not me, B. They didn't catch up to me." Her voice cracked, remembering. "Don't trust 'em. Not if you have another choice. Not unless they prove themselves." And then Faith was gone, disappearing into the big black car and leaving Buffy alone in the sunshine, a sinking feeling in her stomach, blinking against the light.

* * *

"You okay, kiddo?" Faith slid into the passenger seat of the Impala, casting a glance behind her at the other Slayer.

"Five by five, Dad. Let's blow this joint." And she grinned, meeting his gaze. "I had a dream last night; clan of gremlins in Nevada. Can we swing by Vegas? I wanna see the strip." Her father reached out, slowly; cautiously, even after five years, and pulled her close to him, tucking her into his shoulder.

"Your brothers are packing up. We'll be on the road by ten." He squeezed her tight, putting everything into the action that he never put into words and she relaxed. "We just have to figure out what to do with the vampire, Angel." She felt more than saw the face he made. "We had to let him into the house last night because the sun was coming up and Dean didn't want him to dust. He curled up in the corner and fell asleep. But he seems to be remembering some things, so that's progress, I suppose." Or, he'd remembered the word 'no' and was using it liberally anytime anyone tried to pry him away from Dean. John had narrowly avoided being shoved across the room when he tried to change the dressing on his boy's knee. He said as much to Faith; warned her to be careful of him and to stake him if she thought she had to.

"Buffy says he was a hero, Dad. Whatever happened in hell, he's damaged, yeah, but he's still a hero, right?" John's lips quirked upward in a smile and he hugged her again.

"Buffy says, huh? And what else does Buffy say?" Faith blushed, just a little, and poked her dad with her elbow as he laughed.


	15. What makes awkward conversation

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN or BTVS. :(

A/N: Thanks to all for comments/reviews. Hope y'all enjoy this, too.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hi, uh, is that Dean?"

"Yeah."

"This is Buffy Summers. Faith gave me this number… is she there?"

"Sure." She heard sounds of a scuffle.

"B?" Faith was out of breath, but sounded cheerful.

"Hey Faith! How are you?"

"Five by five. Neck deep in vamp dust right now. Is the world ending?"

"No, no. Just… wanted to check in, really." Faith was silent for a second and Buffy could hear someone whooping in the background. It sounded like Sam, she thought. Nervous, but not really sure why, she twirled the phone cord around her finger and sat back against her pillows. "I can call back later if you're busy." The other girl certainly sounded busy.

"Naw, it's cool. The boys can handle the rest of 'em." There were more fighting sounds, but they faded slightly and Buffy imagined Faith moving away from the fight.

"Well, if you're sure… Where are you guys, anyway?" Faith paused for a second before replying and Buffy realized that the other girl was deciding whether or not to tell the truth. When she did speak, Buffy wasn't sure if it was the truth but she decided not to question it.

"South Carolina. There was a Master vamp here, setting up shop in Charleston. But Dad toasted him last night and we're on cleanup tonight."

"Tonight?" It wasn't even dark out.

"Yeah, B. We're on the other side of the country, so its night already." There was amusement in her voice and not scorn but Buffy blushed anyway.

"Sorry. Time zones are confusing. So, no big showdown with the Master-guy? Those can be fun." She was thinking specifically of fighting Spike, or Angel- vamps that could challenge her. Faith snorted.

"After the last time, with Kakistos, I'm lucky my dad didn't leave me watching the car. We got him from a distance- crossbow bolt."

"Ah." She didn't know what else to say. She'd kind of hoped that Faith would have an epic tale to tell and that would help ease the conversation along. "We got a crazy ex-Watcher who tried to take over the world using a magic glove." Buffy would have loved to see Faith's reaction to that one- seeing as she hated watchers and all.

"Huh. Wish I could say I was surprised but you know me, B. Watcher-phobic. You okay?"

"Yeah. I cut her hand off and the Council sent people to collect her. They asked me if I'd had any dreams about the new Slayer." Faith inhaled sharply. "I told them no."

"Thanks Buffy. I appreciate it."

"Well, it wasn't a lie. I haven't had any dreams about you- I've just, you know, met you. That's different." Giles and the Scoobies knew her, too, but they'd never say a word. She'd warned them. "They came when Giles called, too, but he told them that you'd come to town after Kakistos and that you were alone. He told them that you were an excellent Slayer and that you were obviously following your Calling. I thought that Travers was going to strangle him." She sounded amused.

"Give him my thanks, will you? I really do appreciate it." She was suddenly serious and Buffy regretting not calling sooner to set the girl's mind to rest.

"Snyder is still moping around the school, complaining that we scared off the best new prospective students that he'd seen in years." Faith laughed.

"He's lucky we didn't actually start there. Sam has a habit of terrorizing teachers and I'm not nearly as angelic as some of my transcripts might suggest." Normally, for normal people, Buffy would be scandalized at the thought of messing with transcripts. It was cheating and cheating was wrong, right? Cheating and lying and all that stuff. But she'd asked around about the Winchesters and _normal_ wasn't something that really applied to them.

Willy had almost wet himself when she had name-dropped John Winchester; he'd almost cried when she'd thrown in Bobby Singer. She was pretty sure he'd have fainted if she told him that the Hunters had raised a Slayer- something that she was coming to realize was their best-kept secret. And they could keep her safe just as much as any Watcher- she'd seen John Winchester take out two vamps himself, outside the warehouse. Sure, they were minions, but he'd dispatched them without breaking stride and that kind of casual slaying meant _experience_.

She'd told Giles everything when it had become clear that the younger Slayer and her family were long gone from Sunnydale- and about ten minutes before the watchers had shown up, demanding to know where the girl was. Giles was kind of a badass when he was riled up and he'd thrown them out of his library, feigning offence that they thought he'd lie to them. Buffy had just stood there, half-threat and half-observer.

"Yeah, well. He'd rather have you and Sam over me and mine any day, that's for sure." She glanced over to her dresser, wondering about Angel and wondering how to ask. "Plus, I'm pretty sure he wants to adopt Dean." That was actually true- Snyder had used the Hunter as an example worth following more than once, despite the fact that as far as he was concerned, they hadn't met him.

Though she kind of agreed with him- Dean _was_ a good example, if a crazy one. Xander and Cordelia had both been uber-impressed and she understood it. They were normal, completely. Willow had her witchy-ness going for her and Oz was a werewolf, so they didn't really get it anymore. No more than Buffy did, anyway. Being normal in the Supernatural world made you a target, not a threat, and her friends had seen Dean as proof that they could (and should) be fighting the good fight. She wasn't sure how she felt about it yet, but she couldn't stop them. She wouldn't stop them.

Faith was laughing, telling her that maybe she could arrange to have Dean shipped back to Sunnydale. Buffy took a deep breath and decided to just ask. She _had_ to know. She'd been waiting for weeks, waiting for him to call and he never did.

"Is Angel with you? Is he okay?" Faith had been mid-sentence. "Sorry, for interrupting, but… I just need to know that he's okay." The other girl _hmm'd_ and Buffy could hear her asking her brother something, but her hand must have been covering the microphone because she couldn't make out the words.

"He's still alive. Or undead. Whichever." She didn't sound too eager to share, but that little piece of information was enough for Buffy to relax.

"Okay. Good to know." She desperately wanted to ask for more, but she could hear Dean in the background, telling his sister that it was none of Buffy's business. She wanted to argue the point but… it had been weeks and she hadn't even called to check on him. She wasn't sure it actually was any of her business anymore. "I don't… I don't what to say or how to ask but… if you need anything, just tell me, okay? I'll do whatever I can to help, if you need it." She wasn't sure whether she was hoping they needed her or not. She was almost relieved that he wasn't in Sunnydale, where she'd have to look after him and help him not be crazy. He'd attached himself to Dean- surely that was for a reason.

"Look, Buffy… Angel's going to be fine, okay? It's gonna take some time, but he's getting there. And if he wants to talk to you, he'll call." There was a definite note of finality in her voice and Buffy felt relieved more than anything.

"Okay. I can live with that. Thank you." They didn't talk for much longer, after that. The vamps were dead and Faith hung up, saying they were heading for food and a shower and that she'd call her again sometime.

With the dial tone buzzing in her ear, Buffy sighed, stretched and stood up. Evil to fight; lives to save.

* * *

Thousands of miles away, Faith fell into step with Sam as Dean led them back through the cemetery toward the car. He hadn't said much after she'd hung up the phone, just told her that they were ready to go when she was. The vamps were dust and there was no sign of anything else interesting anywhere nearby, so she waved him on.

Sam was braver than she was when it came to questioning Dean when he was pissed off- and there was no doubt about it. Dean was pissed off. He wasn't normally easy to rile, unless you knew exactly which buttons to press, but recently Angel had become one of those buttons. Dean had actually blacked out the rear windows of the Impala- that's when they knew it was serious. He said it wasn't permanent; just until the vampire was able to feed himself again, and like, talk and stuff. It was a pretty big statement, though, especially for Dean. Of course, he only blacked out the rear windows, so maybe it wasn't that big. The Vamp still had to hunker under a blanket from time to time, so it wasn't like he was comfortable.

Sam asked, of course.

"Dude, why are you so pissed?" Ahead of them, their brother shrugged.

"Dunno. Just am." He muttered something about self-entitled teenagers, but Faith wasn't sure if he meant Buffy or Sam.

"She's just concerned. You know that. She had to send him to hell." Dean stopped walking, glancing back at them with an unreadable expression on his face.

"That's just the thing, kid. She didn't _have_ to send him to hell. _He_ was free and they pulled him back to the vampire's body and then shoved him into hell to close a portal. The soul suffered in hell for decades when it should never have been there and that's on them." She thought it might have been grief she was seeing, but it looked so foreign that she couldn't be sure.

"They didn't have a choice, Dean. It was that or the whole world." Dean shook his head again, disagreeing.

"She should have put him down before it ever got that far. She forfeit her right to worry about him when she didn't kill him in the first place." She could tell he believed it, right down to his bones.

"And if it was me? Or Sammy? Would you be able to put us down like that?" She knew the answer was no.

"Just because I wouldn't do it, doesn't mean it wouldn't be my fault for not. It'd still be on me; my responsibility." Ah. Dean-logic. Beside her, Sam made a noise of agreement. Jesus, were they trying to drive her crazy?

"You guys are nuts, you know that, right?" Dean actually grinned, though, and reached into the backseat to pull her into a hug.

"You love us anyway, kiddo." He only called her kiddo when he was feeling down, so she indulged it, even hugging him back. Over his shoulder, she saw Sam grinning- displays of affection gave him ammunition to use against Dean when the elder complained of chick-flick moments and too much caring and sharing.

"Don't be too hard on her, Dean. She's just a kid, too, okay?" He made a face, not happy. But he nodded, almost accepting her words. Buffy wasn't even eighteen- she deserved a break. Faith didn't stop to notice the hypocrisy of her own words. She'd been fighting for years to be treated like an adult and she was years younger than the other Slayer.

"Come on, let's get back. I have vamp dust in places where there should be no vamp dust." He was trying, she could tell. That would have to be enough. Besides, maybe Angel did need someone like Dean in his corner, regardless of logic- Faith couldn't begrudge him that.


	16. What makes a Death

A/N: Thanks to all who have been reading and reviewing. This one came from left of field and it is set some time before Graduation but after Buffy's 18th birthday.

Disclaimer: I don't own SPN or BTVS and this is purely for entertainment purposes and not for profit. Woe is me.

* * *

Cooke city, Montana, wasn't even a town. It was a fork in a road in the middle of a forest where someone had stopped one day and built a house. That was what Dean thought, anyway. There were about a hundred people, maybe, scattered around the 'town' and yeah, it had a school, but it wasn't a town, much less a city. But they went where Faith's dreams took them, and this time, they were in Cooke city, seeking out the something that had been eating hikers and hunters. Faith swore it'd be here next and Dean could only trust her- she hadn't been wrong yet.

The last snows were on the ground but it wasn't difficult to maneuver in the woods- not if you'd been doing it for years, anyway. Late February and the change of weather was in the air- Dean hadn't spent much time in Montana, but he could taste spring in the air. Thank god. He _hated_ hiking, but John and Sam were in Butte and John had insisted that they could handle a wendigo between them. Well, what John thought was a wendigo anyway. Dean thought they were too far north, but he didn't argue- whatever it was, they could handle it. Hell, Faith could probably take it on alone, but she wasn't confident driving in the snow, so even if they had allowed it, she couldn't have gone alone.

They split up in the woods, staying within each other's eyesight and close enough to call out, though it was daylight and wendigos only ever attack at night. Caution never cost anything, their dad always said- except, of course, when it was John on a Hunt and he decided that caution wasn't worth his time. Sometimes, Dean wondered if his father was actually suicidal because it would certainly explain some of the shit he pulled, sometimes.

Dean paused, listening. Around him, the forest was quiet- too quiet, for a spring afternoon in Montana. There should be birds; bats; bears, even, but there was nothing. But it was warm and the air was heavy and windless and the shiver that ran up his spine was anything but comforting.

"Faith?" He was supposed to be quiet and stay out of sight while they waited for the thing to show, but there was something wrong. He could feel it in his bones. "Faith? Where are you, kid?" When had he lost sight of her? He couldn't remember. He kept his voice calm and controlled, despite the growing fear in the pit of his stomach. Overhead, the sun lit the forest in patches and he couldn't see her anywhere. Carefully, quietly, he made his way toward where he'd seen her last; where she'd been stationed. She'd been on point- she was the Slayer. She was always on point.

The ground sloped downward and he was almost running, trying to be quiet but not succeeding. He saw her, lying there, from what felt like miles away but was really only meters. He didn't remember moving, but he was suddenly at her side, checking her pulse and finding none. For a second, he was certain that his own heart had stopped beating, too. She wasn't breathing. She had no heartbeat. The part of him that loved her was screaming and crying and calling her name but Dean pushed it away; pushed it down and forced it to hush- he'd seen worse, he remembered.

There was an ugly purple bruise on her neck and he could only hope that she had been strangled and not had her neck broken. His hands should have been trembling, but they weren't. His fingers were steady and sure and he didn't even feel relief when he realized her neck hadn't been snapped. She wasn't breathing, sure. She had no heartbeat, okay. She was still warm, though; not moving, but warm. With one hand, he forced her mouth open and checked her tongue, even as his other reached for his phone and dialed. He didn't bother with his father; didn't even think of calling Sam. He went straight for the emergency services, ignoring everything that they normally avoided like the plague.

"911 emergency" The woman sounded cool and calm and Dean appreciated that, even as he started chest compressions.

"I need an air evac. My sister has been strangled- she's not breathing and I can't find a pulse. We're in the woods off the road outside Cooke city, three miles up the Daisy Pass trail road. We're about a hundred yards in on the eastern side, and my car is parked on the side of the road as a marker." There was silence for a second and when the lady spoke again, there was a tiny note of sympathy in her voice.

"Sir, I'll need to send you an ambulance to remove to Cooke city before we can get your sister an air evacuation, okay? It's on its way. We're going to keep this line open and I'm going to talk you through emergency CPR, okay?" Her voice was far away, tinny, lying on the ground with the speaker on.

"I'm doing compressions already." He stopped compressions, forcing air into her mouth instead, before restarting the pounding on her heart. He hadn't done CPR in years, but he wasn't sure that the air was going anywhere. "But I don't think mouth to mouth is working." She wasn't blue yet. She was still warm. That was a good sign, right?

"Just keep doing the compressions, sir. The ambulance is on its way." She said some other things, to, but Dean stopped listening, forcing himself to keep going; keep the pressure on her chest and air down her throat.

It wasn't working. He didn't know how long he'd been doing it, but he could tell it wasn't working, all the same. The bruising was too bad; too quick- there was nothing getting into her lungs. He couldn't remember what he was supposed to do to make that better- nothing he was trying was working. But he kept doing it; listening carefully for any sign of life and for the scream of sirens that would tell him there was help on the way. And god, he needed help.

The EMTs, when they arrived, weren't exactly what he thought they were going to be- Park Rangers, not EMTs, but they knew what to do all the same. One of them moved him to the side while the other checked her for breath sounds and a pulse, and then there was some medical mumbo-jumbo that he didn't understand.

"We'll do our best, son. Joe is a doctor, he'll do everything he can to help her, okay?"

He understood the scalpel, when it was raised against her throat. He almost protested, but what could he do instead? Nothing. He watched as they sliced into her throat and his gaze followed the beads of blood as the leaked down the side of her neck. He flinched away when he saw the layers of skin pulled aside and something being forced through, into her windpipe. But then she was breathing, or they were doing it for her, and all Dean could feel was relief.

"Son, we're going to need your help, okay? We need to get her back to the road and into town. I need you to help me carry the stretcher." He nodded, numb but agreeable, and watched as they rolled her onto the stretcher with practiced ease. "The chopper is going to meet us back in town, but we need to move fast, okay?" The doctor was on the stretcher, too, continuing compressions and forcing air into her lungs. It should have been difficult and unwieldy, but Dean didn't think he'd ever moved so fast, racing back to the road and to their transport.

It wasn't an ambulance- it was an off-roader, green, with an open bed at the back. Dean and the doctor hopped in the back and the other man into the driver's seat.

The doctor shocked her twice – portable defibrillator- on the way to town, and they were loading her onto the air ambulance when he shocked her a third time.

Dean let himself cry when, in the ambulance, her heat started to beat again. Weak, unsteady, but beating.

He didn't have time to be afraid of flying (helicopters were different to planes, anyway) because all his attention was focused on his sister. He was crouched by her side, holding her hand and concentrating on the pulse under his thumb, thanking anyone who would listen for bringing it back.

At the hospital, they took her away into surgery and Dean paced the waiting room. Cell phone in hand, he debated calling his family. They'd want to know. They'd want to be there- but Dean didn't want to tell them. If he told them and his dad turned up, then it'd be real and Faith would really, truly be fighting for her life and he wasn't ready to face it.

But they'd want to know; no question.

He didn't remember dialing, but he must have because he could hear the phone ringing in his ear.

"Dean?" His dad answered, gruff and suspicious. Dean had been supposed to check in hours before.

"Dad?" He barely managed to keep his voice from breaking. "Dad, we're at the hospital in Billings. It's Faith, dad- she's pretty bad. They, uh… they don't know if she's going to wake up." He could hear his dad inhale and a thump that he was pretty sure meant he'd dropped into a chair.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I didn't even see what happened, but it choked her, Dad. It wasn't a wendigo." Wendigos would eat you, sure, but they wouldn't bother choking you first. "She's in surgery to repair her trachea but her heart was stopped for a long time. We took the air ambulance in." There was silence on the line for a long time and Dean could have sworn he heard a hitch in his dad's voice when he spoke again.

"I'll be there as soon as I can, kid, okay? I'll get Sammy and we'll be on the road in a half-hour. You need anything?" Dean answered no, but he'd really love it if his dad could just walk in the door right then and take over. "We'll be there soon. Hang in there." And his dad was gone and Dean had nothing else to do but wait and pace.

* * *

Across the country, Buffy Summers had been sleeping soundly; pleasant dreams for once, not haunted by the horror that she'd seen and dealt out.

But she woke suddenly, ripped from peace into certainty beyond questioning that Faith had died. When she cried, it wasn't quiet or pretty; huge, racking sobs that robbed her breath and left her head aching. She called Giles, confessed to him in short words that she'd been in touch for months with the missing Slayer and that she was dead and gone and the Council could have their shiny new toy, now. She was bitter and he was apologetic and when they hung up, there was another barrier between them.

She toyed with her phone, dialing and redialing Dean Winchester's phone number but not letting it ring; hanging up and starting again. She knew it was true, she could feel it in her bones, but she didn't want to be the one to tell him if he didn't. She didn't want to deliver that news to anyone, ever.

But she had to. Faith was out there somewhere, dead in a ditch or in a pool of her own blood or worse… she'd never forgive herself if she didn't tell the girl's family that something had happened.

When the call connected, her heart started to beat faster and bile rose in her mouth. How could she do something like this over the phone? God, she hoped that they already knew. She hoped that he wouldn't answer, maybe.

"Yeah?" His voice was gruff and tired and if she'd known him better, she would have heard the tears.

"Dean? It's Buffy. I… something terrible happened to Faith." There was silence for a beat and her heart was in her throat, waiting.

"I know, kid, I know. She's… the doctors don't know if she'll wake up." He sounded exhausted and she could almost picture him pacing in a waiting room. Hope soared, though, and relief washed over her in a wave.

"But she's alive? She's not… I thought she was dead." He must have heard her grief because he was quick to reassure her- yeah, it had been touch and go but her heart was beating and there was a machine breathing for her. She was alive, if barely.

"Is there anything I can do? I don't… I don't even know where you are. I just woke up and I knew that something was wrong." She'd died once herself, too. "But she's a Slayer and Slayers are tough- she can make it through this, I'm sure of it." She knew what it felt like, now, to believe that Faith was dead- it wasn't something she wished to repeat.

"There is one thing… you can tell the Council that Faith died." She blinked, surprised, and then grinned, a little. Faith had been so stressed and so worried about the Council following her; tracking her down and taking her away from her family.

"I can do that. Will you keep me updated? Call me, or have her call me when she wakes up?" She was certain that the younger girl would wake- Buffy knew her well enough, now, to know that if Faith was anything, she was a fighter.

"Sure. No problem." She could tell he was relieved. "I have to go- the doctors here." He hung up before she could say goodbye but she wasn't even annoyed. Faith wasn't dead; unconscious, yeah, but what was unconscious and injured to a Slayer? She'd be back on her feet in no time and the Council would be off her back for good. Right?


	17. What makes one Chosen

A/N: I know, it's been forever and a day since I've updated. I have no excuse, just an apology. If you're still with me, then I hope you enjoy. :) If you're just joining me, welcome, and aren't you glad you haven't had to wait? ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these shows, or any of the characters mentioned.

Warnings: References to child abuse and torture- nothing more explicit than anything else that has come before this, but still present.

* * *

John felt every one of his forty-eight years as he turned the corner to his daughter's hospital room. He hadn't slept properly in what felt like months (really only a few weeks, he was pretty sure) and his last proper meal had been interrupted by the news that Faith was in a coma. He found it hard to eat, now. He found it hard to recognize when he was hungry, even.

Dean was there, of course. It was a day ending in Y, so of course Dean was there- camped out in her room as though he could force her into consciousness through will alone. Needless to say, it hadn't happened yet but that wasn't stopping Dean from trying. He watched crappy TV and kept up a running monologue, confident that she could hear him. John had overheard the nurses on the floor discussing him- they thought it was lovely, really, but heartbreaking.

They didn't think she'd ever wake up, but then they didn't know Faith at all, did they?

John took the seat opposite Dean, on the other side of the bed. He felt exposed, sitting with his back to the doorway, but he tried to shake it off.

"Bobby called." His boy glanced over, eyes red-rimmed and dark circles making him look more like a patient than a visitor/ Spending his days in the hospital and his nights hunting was beginning to take its toll. "He said that another girl has been Called." Dean didn't look too surprised.

"Her heart stopped- we knew that." Dean had been there when it happened. John still felt sick at the thought.

"Bobby says that sometimes, the new Slayer will dream of her predecessor. Sometimes, the new one knows how the old one died." Faith hadn't, John thought. If she had, she hadn't told him, anyway. He kept his eyes on Dean, refusing to look at his girl, so small and pale on the bed between them.

"Where?" Of course, Dean got it- John had dreaded having to explain.

"L.A, apparently. Bobby thinks that there's something coming- something big, because two girls have been Called so close to the Hellmouth." Bobby had told him that potential Slayers were Called when they were in the right place at the right time. He wasn't sure what that said about Faith- that the Slayer needed to be on the move, maybe. Dean was nodding though, as if he understood. John wouldn't be surprised. Dean knew as much, if not more, than John did about Slayer lore. He'd made it his business to know.

"If I leave tonight, I can be there tomorrow. Do the Watchers have her?" John shook his head, slowly. It would have to be Dean- John was working. An actual, real job, to pay for hospital bills and rent on the shitty house they were staying in.

"Not that we can tell. Bobby's sources say she hasn't moved in weeks- whatever the Council is trying this time, they haven't snatched her up." Neither of them knew what that meant. John didn't want to know; didn't want to think about another girl out there, giving up her life to the Hunt. This time, he was just grateful that there was another one out there, who might be able to tell them what happened to Faith.

"You'll stay with her? She… she wouldn't want to be alone." But Dean couldn't be here any longer- John could see that. Three weeks by his sister's bedside and he was itching to be on the move; to be going somewhere and doing something. John knew the feeling. Hell, he was living the feeling already- but it was different, for him. He was her dad, not Dean.

"Sam and I are staying and Bobby's on his way up. He tracked down some trippy African root that might let us contact her." John didn't mention that if any of them made a dream-trek into Faith's unconscious, it'd be Sam. Sam knew her best. "Get some sleep and then get going. If we can find out what took her down, we have a chance at tracking it." He couldn't live with another unanswered question; couldn't lose Faith to _something_ the same way he'd lost Mary. It was a long shot, but there was still hope.

Dean just nodded, standing up and stretching, his eyes on his sister's prone form.

"If I get nothing from L.A., I'll swing by the Hellmouth and check with the Watcher." He didn't wait for his father's agreement, just turned and left the room. John, alone with his daughter for the first time in weeks, didn't know what else he could do.

* * *

Once his decision was made, Dean made quick work of it- straight back to the house to pack up the Impala and say goodbye to Sam. The younger boy was just back from school and he looked about as good as Dean felt- though he brightened some when Dean told him they had a possible lead and that he was going to follow it.

No-one mentioned the fact that Dean would be walking into the Watcher's hands, but there was no time to worry about that- they could only hope that with Faith 'dead' and a new Slayer to play with, that the Council would forget he ever existed. Besides, what were the chances of the Council sending the same team to L.A. that they had sent after Faith? Dean just ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him that, according to Winchester luck, it was pretty freaking likely.

"You'll be careful, right?" It was as close as Sam came to mentioning it.

"Of course. And I'll have Angel with me- you know he won't let anyone touch me." The Vampire was in the basement room, sleeping, hopefully. Dean wouldn't let him go to the hospital- just in case- but they'd spent their nights Hunting together and Dean trusted the Vampire to watch his back as much as he did anyone. Sam did, too.

"Good. He'll like that, I think. Bobby and Dad still don't trust him, so he's safer with you." Angel was slowly coming back to himself, they thought, but it was a slow process- it had taken weeks for him to even talk again, and when he did it wasn't in full sentences, and he got agitated sometimes, when Dean wasn't there. Dean could only imagine the horror of spending years in hell- of course there was a price to pay and a long recovery process.

"Pull the car up to the door, will you? I'll wake him." There was a good chance that he'd woken as soon as they came in the front door and just hadn't come upstairs. He didn't breathe, so he could fake sleep pretty well when he wanted to. Dean thought that he liked being woken- that he liked being touched without the threat of pain.

Sam did as he was asked, moving with a slight spring in his step now that there was a lead. Tenuous though it may be, they had two possibilities now- one for Faith, and waking her, and one for finding out what had hurt her.

It was cold outside, but getting warmer as the days passed. Part of him wanted it to stay cold- cold meant that Faith wasn't racking up the days in a coma. Cold meant it was winter and she could get better soon.

He'd always wanted to stop somewhere and spend more than a few weeks in the same school; live in the same house and have John working a real job. Whenever he had let himself think about it, it had looked something like what they had in Billings- a house with a yard; his dad working as a mechanic; a school where he had the chance to learn the names.

He'd never thought that when he finally had a house to call home, that'd he do little more than sleep there. He'd never imagined that they'd have stopped moving because his sister was in a coma. He shivered as he sat into the Impala, moving the car around the back of the house to the rear entrance- it was closer to the house and Angel was less likely to get hurt that way. Why Dean hadn't just parked there when he got home, Sam didn't know- though he suspected it was because he was arranging the quickest getaway, just in case. Old habits die hard, after all.

Inside, Dean flipped on the switch for the basement light and made his way carefully down the stairs. They were rickety and wobbly and not exactly safe. To his surprise, Angel was awake and even dressed.

"Hey- we've gotta job. You ready to go? Gotta get something to eat before we leave and then we'll hit the road." He was certain that Angel understood everything that was said to him- he didn't always know how to reply yet, but he understood. Just like Faith could hear him, wherever she was, Angel could hear him too. He could feel it, somewhere deep in his bones. Angel nodded once and stood up from his cot, ever graceful. He'd started walking upright not long after they left the Hellmouth- the start of a long trek back to sanity. His duffel was already packed, ready to go, and Dean wondered at that- had Angel heard John on the phone earlier and put two and two together? He hoped so. He could use a partner in L.A. and not a guard-dog, and the flashes of personality that he'd seen had been enough to tell the Hunter that Angel would be an excellent partner if he were, you know, saner; less feral; less likely to bite anyone who approached him unannounced.

Bobby had learned that the hard way, but luckily, he'd laughed it off and let Dean bandage the wound without complaint.

Sam was back upstairs when they got there and Dean made sure that Angel ate before they left- three pints from the local blood-bank. O negative, in fact. They were closing on their expiry date, anyway, so they would have been thrown out soon. Human blood was better for him than animal, they'd learned. He recovered quicker from injuries and his eyes were sharper; more alert. He needed less of it, too, though he always refused to take theirs- Dean had offered, once, and the _look_ he got in return was enough to convince him that Sparky was gone and Angel was back, more or less.

"Gotta jet, Sammy. Stay safe?" Safe, meaning inside and behind the salt lines. Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, but he hugged his brother goodbye and watched as the Impala drove off. The rear windows were darkened, so he couldn't see in, but he watched all the same, until the taillights disappeared into the distance.

This had to work- they couldn't lose Faith, in more ways than one. They just _couldn't._

* * *

He'd been driving for about eight hours before his eyes began to drift shut- Dean, accustomed to long drives, knew it was past time for a break. He pulled in at a rest-stop somewhere in Idaho and was careful to lock the doors, just in case. The last thing they needed was someone trying to steal the friggin' car.

"I wish you could drive, dude, because it'd make this a hell of a lot easier. Angel just blinked at him from the passenger seat and Dean grinned in return. "Yeah, yeah, you're so innocent and helpless. I get it." The Hunter stretched out on the backseat, setting his alarm for just before sun-up. Angel would wake him if it got too close, he knew, but it wasn't fair all the same. It didn't take him long to drift off to sleep- he'd slept in the Impala a hell of a lot more times than he'd slept anywhere else, after all. She was home; all leather scent and gasoline.

When he woke, it was still dark out, and the car was moving beneath him, rocking gently on the road. He blinked, confused, before sitting up suddenly. Angel was driving. _Angel_ was driving. Angel was _driving_. He was torn between triumph and terror- he could only hope that they were at least going in the right friggin' direction.

"Dude, where are we?" They'd been three hours from Salt Lake City, maybe, and a quick check of the time told him he'd been asleep for more than six hours. The Vampire glanced back at him and grinned widely, the smile making him look more like a little boy than a mass-murdering monster.

He didn't answer, though, and Dean hadn't really expected one.

"Pull over at the next gas station, will ya? I need to take a leak." And recover from his heart attack somewhere with people around. And he could find out where they were, too, while he filled up the tank- if they'd been driving for so long, they'd need fuel. Angel didn't nod or agree or anything, but Dean decided to take it on faith that he'd do as he was told- he always had, before. Not like he had much of a choice in the matter, anyway.

To say he was pleasantly surprised to discover, when they'd stopped, that they were less than two hours from Vegas, was an understatement.

"Dude, good going." He tried not to _sound_ surprised. "You make pretty good time for someone who claims to have been born before the combustion engine was invented." Angel looked pleased, he thought.

He gassed up as the sun was rising and the Vampire retreated to the backseat. Dean insisted that he cover up, even though the sun would be behind them for hours, yet, and he got the guy in the gas station to microwave the travel mug of O neg without asking questions. This close to Vegas, Dean thought the guy probably couldn't be surprised anymore. Angel drank without saying anything and Dean sat back into the driver's seat, relieved in a way he hadn't really been expecting.

"So you've remembered how to drive? Nice. That'll come in handy." The Vampire didn't cast a reflection, so Dean couldn't see him, but he thought he heard a quiet huff that might have been a laugh. "And you didn't put a scratch on her, so you're already one up on Sammy." This time, the huff was more pronounced and Dean allowed himself a smile. "And hey- if you're able to drive, this means you're officially on the overnight shift. I can finally catch up on my beauty sleep." Dean paused, waiting for a reply, before sighing dramatically. "That was your cue to say 'Dean, you don't need beauty sleep, you fine hunk of man, you.'" He waited another beat before twisting in his seat to meet the Vampire's amused (bemused?) stare. "Yeah, you're probably right. Stating the obvious is beneath you." He smiled, amused by his own chatter, and something in Angel's expression changed subtly, moving further toward amused and Dean counted it as a win.

They'd struggled in the first few weeks after the Hellmouth- Dean hadn't known how to handle him and Angel had been flipping between fierce rage and overwhelming protectiveness. They still didn't know _why_ Angel felt so protective of him, because it was limited to just Dean, and that was…odd and strange a half-dozen other things, really. Bobby said it might have been because the first time he'd seen Dean, the Hunter had been injured and in danger and that had appealed to everything good that lingered in the Vampire. His father had just shrugged and deferred, for once, to Bobby's wisdom and Sam didn't question it.

Faith explained it better, taking him aside one day after he'd snapped and shouted at Angel to leave him alone.

They'd been in Michigan and it had been snowing, but they'd sat together on the hood of the Impala, drinking crappy motel coffee.

"Do you remember when you found me? Do you remember what I was like?" Her voice was pitched low and she sounded embarrassed. Young. She didn't talk about her pre-Winchester life often.

"I could never forget." That was certainly true- there are some things that you can never forget.

"Before you… no-one had ever been nice to me before, ya know? No-one had ever looked at me and promised to look after me and not hurt me. _No-one_." Her voice remained steady, but he could hear the hurt in her, all the same, and he ached the same as he had then. "And now… now that I'm strong, I am never, ever going to let anything hurt you if I can help it because I know what it's like to not have you. Dad and Sam, too, but you were the first. And I didn't know what it meant for things to be good and for people to be good and it had been so long since anyone had been kind…" She'd taken a mouthful of coffee and swallowed hard. Dean remembered following suit. "You have to treat him like you did me, Dean. He doesn't know what it's like to have someone look after him. He keeps expecting there to be pain and you can't hurt him. Not now. Maybe not ever."

If any of them understood what it meant to be tortured for years, it was Faith, and Dean had taken every word to heart. He'd already been Angel's staunchest defender, but from that night onward, he'd accepted whatever the Vampire had to share- he'd tolerated constant touching; the over-protectiveness; the constant shadow on a hunt. Whatever Angel needed to do to heal, Dean was okay with it.

No chick-flick moments, obviously, but within reason.

He drove on, mostly in silence, and they made good time, blowing past Vegas and into California in a wave of heat and sand. Bobby had given them an approximate location- a square mile of real estate where the plan was to scout for Watchers and hope the Council could lead them to the girl. It was a vague idea at best, but Dean had Angel on his side and the Vampire had really good eyes and ears and knew the difference between a British accent and an American one.

Which is why, at about two am that night, Dean found himself woken from a light sleep to find Angel clambering back into the car. He'd been out, scouting, and Dean had blinked bleary eyes at him and asked what he'd found.

Angel had led the way, down the street and two blocks over. The Vampire had stopped him and pointed at the dark sedan parked across the road- in the streetlights, Dean could see the two men in the front seats, and he trusted that they were Council. Angel _knew_ what they were Hunting.

Their car was idling at the pavement, smoke curling from the exhaust- ready to leave at a moment's notice. Behind it rose white walls and chain-link fencing; barred windows and locked doors.

It was a mental institution.

Damn.


	18. What makes a Nightmare

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN, BTVS or Angel.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing, and I am relieved to know that people are still reading! Your persistence and patience are appreciated. :)

* * *

"Dude, we have to break into a mental hospital?" He was whisper-shouting and he knew it. If Sam or Faith were there, they'd be shushing him already, but Angel just half-smiled and Dean rolled his eyes. "This city sucks. C'mon- we need to get back to the car before someone jacks it." And wouldn't that be the perfect end to a shitty day?

They walked in (unsurprising) silence. The Hunter was caught up in his thoughts and he trusted Angel to keep watch- which the Vampire did.

He knew he'd been tempting fate with the car-jacking comment when his first glimpse of the Impala was impeded by the dude sitting on her hood.

Dean didn't even see Angel move- and the Vampire's first reaction was to grab the stranger and throw him to the ground, a good thirty feet from where he'd been grabbed, too. Dean's first (okay, second, because Angel didn't lay a finger on humans without good reason) clue that the guy was less (or more) than human was that he didn't immediately cry like a child after being tossed around the parking lot like a rag-doll.

So, dorky guy was on the ground and Angel was straddling him growling and holding him down and Dean wasn't exactly sure how to react.

"Hey, dude, ease up there a little, huh?" It seemed to be enough, though, because his friend stood and stepped away, back toward the car, frown firmly in place. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

On the ground, he didn't look like much. Nervous, a little, and twitchy. Hell, standing he wouldn't look like much- but he hadn't pissed himself when Angel's game-face made an appearance, and that was saying something. One more check in the 'not-human' box.

"Doyle. My name is Doyle. Please, don't shoot me- I'm just the messenger." Slowly, Doyle climbed to his feet. At his words, Dean realized that he'd already drawn his gun and had it aimed at him. Huh. He hadn't even noticed- his dad would be horrified. "I've been sent with a message, that's all, I swear." He wasn't local, that's for sure- Irish maybe, or Scottish? Dean immediately discounted the _Watcher_ whisper that echoed in his head. The Council didn't work with not-humans. No way, no how.

Not that Hunters usually do, either. Angel was a special circumstance.

"Who sent you?" He bit back his curiosity about the message- _who_ was just as important as _what_, half the time. Or so Bobby said, anyway. Beside him, Angel growled, and Doyle paled a little more.

"See, here's the thing: I get visions." He ducked his head, embarrassed. "And I had one, about you two fellas and the girl you're trying to save? The one in the nut house?" Dean didn't correct him- it would be heartless, maybe, to admit that he didn't care much about the Slayer in the hospital. She was a means to an end.

"Oh yeah? And you help people out of the goodness of your heart, right?" For twenty-one, he sure was cynical.

"Well, sorta. I mean, there's _helping_ and then there's helping, ya know? Also, the visions come with a side-order of splitting migraine and if I hafta suffer for it, then I might as well pass the message on, right?"

Uh, right. Sure. Dean just nodded and pretended to understand- he was pretty good at that, and the guy seemed placated. Visions. Headaches. Whatever.

"So… you're some special psychic demon? Any other nifty tricks I should know about?"

Doyle just shook his head, hands raised in surrender.

"I'm just a normal, peace-loving, half-Bracken demon. The visions aren't even the family standard, okay?" Dean knew exactly jack shit about Bracken demons, but he'd ask Bobby as soon as he had the chance. "So… you gonna put that thing away and listen to me or what?"

He wasn't sure about it- what Hunter would be?- but Angel had backed down and was content enough to stand by Dean's shoulder, human-faced and calm. Dean put the gun away. Reluctantly.

"Can we take this somewhere indoors? Preferably with plumbing and beer." If he had to spend an evening with a demon, the least he could get for it was some beer, right?

"Sure, sure… hey- how do you feel about karaoke? I know this guy, makes a great Sea-breeze? Not far from here, either, if you don't mind driving?"

When had Dean ever _minded_ driving? So he nodded, unlocked the car and sat into the driver's seat. Doyle pulled open the heavy rear door and jumped into the backseat.

"Nice car, man. Not that I know much about American cars, but she is a beauty."

Yeah, the guy was a psychic alright- he knew exactly what to say to make Dean like him, almost against his will.

"Angel, watch him. Doyle, if you fuck me over I think it goes without saying that I will end you." Grinning widely, he watched in the rear-view as the man's (demon's?) face fell a little. "Cheer up- if my dad was here, he'd have shot you for touching the car."

Ten minutes later, Dean was reconsidering liking the man. This had to be a joke. Or a nightmare.

"A demon karaoke bar? You've gotta be shittin' me." Doyle just shrugged, leading the way inside. Angel followed him, unconcerned, and Dean took that as confirmation that he wasn't likely to be roasted over an open flame by whoever happened to be inside. _Caritas_ looked normal enough on the outside, at least, and the sign on the wall proclaiming that there was a sanctuary spell in place was reassuring- because it meant that he didn't have to hand over his weapons at the door, if nothing else. It's not like he'd never been to demon bars before- though, usually, John Winchester insisted that he didn't go alone. Or at all, if it was avoidable. Dean was pretty sure that his dad wouldn't consider Angel adequate backup, either, but Dean was just gonna ignore that. What his dad didn't know wouldn't kill him and as long as he never found out, it wouldn't kill Dean, either.

Doyle led them through the dimly lit bar to a booth at the back of the room- clever, really, to separate the Hunter from the demons, though there wasn't a big crowd anyway. A pair of skeevy vamps by the bar and a table of Graaslok demons by the stage, murdering their way through the Michael Jackson back catalogue. The green guy behind the bar was something Dean had never seen before, but he chose not to ask. Sanctuary spell aside, he needed to know if Doyle had anything he could use.

"Beer, right? Take a seat and I'll get the first round. O neg alright for you?"

Dean liked that the guy addressed Angel directly, and the Vampire even nodded in reply. Of course, just because he liked him didn't mean that he wasn't relieved when Doyle returned with an unopened beer. Sure, it could be magicked or some shit, but it was unlikely. Ish.

Besides, he definitely needed a drink if he was going to be listening to prophecies or whatever- all that mystical 'maybe-could-be-will-be' stick was more Sam's area. Or Bobby's. Or, hell, his dad's. He was firmly in the hit-it-till-it-dies camp.

He'd never met a proper Seer before. Psychics, sure, but a real Seer? Rare as fuck, and one had just walked up to him and introduced himself (ish)? Winchester luck must be turning.

Of course, that was before Doyle told him what he knew. After that… Dean wasn't pretty sure he never wanted to meet another Seer. Ever. There was a sick feeling in his stomach and his head was pounding, suddenly. He certainly hadn't been drinking enough to explain that- he hadn't even finished his beer.

"Let me get this straight… some super-powered dickheads think that I'm _important_? So freaking important that they broke the Slayer line to send me a friggin' bodyguard?" Faith. Jesus. "That can't be right, dude. She's a Slayer- that's destiny." It didn't sound possible… but Doyle knew other things, too. Things about the Yellow-Eyed Demon. About Sam. About their mother. If even half of it was true… he could feel his stomach churning and, by his side, Angel looked concerned.

"Sure, it's destiny- it's meant to be. But that doesn't mean the details can't be tweaked, ya know? Listen, kid, I don't know the details- I just know that the guys upstairs are very, very concerned about keeping you and yours alive. What for, I can't say, but I know it has something to do with your Ma, and the deal she made." Dean ignored the kid jibe, focused on Doyle's earnest expression and his own rising anger.

His mother made a _deal_. Fuck.

This had to be a crock of shit- it couldn't be true, right? Doyle, sitting opposite him and nursing a thirty-year old scotch, made some sympathy noises.

"I know it's a lot to deal with and I'm sorry- if there was any other way…" Doyle paused, finishing his scotch. "… but there isn't, and you have to get that girl out of the hospital ASAP. She's important. I think."

There had been a lot of 'I thinks' and 'I'm pretty sure' and 'maybe'- Dean could tell that Doyle believed what he was saying, at least, but that didn't mean that Dean believed him. Hell, he was sure that he didn't want to, and that was all he was sure about.

"If you don't believe me, ask the Host, okay? That's him, behind the bar. He does this thing where he reads your future when you sing."

What. The. Fuck?

"I mean it- ask anyone. Everyone knows Lorne and this place is neutral ground. Hum a tune for him and he'll tell you that I'm on the level." Before Dean could protest, the demon waved the bartender over. The green one, in the bright red suit.

It was all happening too fast- there was just… too much of it, too quickly. Overload, Sam would say, and his dad… Jesus. John couldn't have known about any of this, so it was on Dean to find out what was true and what wasn't- much as he didn't want to admit it, Doyle wasn't pinging his bullshit-radar, and some of what he said was almost making sense; filling in blanks that Dean had always wondered about.

Like why Sam's nursery; why Mary Winchester; why _Faith. _

He was his sister and if what Doyle said was true, she'd been put in his path so that she could protect him after she was Called.

It made him sick to think that she was being used that way; being thrown under the Winchester bus because someone, somewhere, thought Dean would need a Slayer-shaped shield.

He had to know. Swallowing hard, he turned to watch the Host approach.

He was a Winchester; he'd faced down worse before. There was nothing to fear about the truth, right?

Right?

The way the Host was looking at him, all concern and sympathy, told him that no, maybe the truth was scarier than he had ever imagined.

* * *

It felt like she was drowning; like she was down so far and so deep that she'd never make her way back to the surface. She could breathe, but it hurt- it was like breathing tar, not air, and her lungs ached and burned with every inhale. She tried to stop inhaling, to get the pain to go away, but she couldn't- she knew what it would mean and she wasn't ready for that.

The darkness was all around, hemming her in and holding her tight, pushing down and pulling apart and she couldn't tell where it ended and she started. Was there anything more to her than the darkness? Sometimes, she could hear screams and cries and she didn't think there was more. There was just this: pain and dark and tears. Someone else's; her own. She couldn't tell any more. She wasn't sure she ever knew the difference. How would she know? There had been darkness for so long she could hardly remember the light.

Sometimes, she thought she wasn't alone. She heard her name, maybe, but the voice swirled and twirled and disappeared into the black before she could answer. She never got to answer.

There were dreams, sometimes, but it was hard to tell the dreams from the darkness. Screams and blood and crying and monsters and sometimes she could fight them but sometimes she couldn't and she could feel the claws sinking in; teeth biting down; hands grasping tight. And then the dream would end and the darkness would return and she couldn't decide which was better. Was one better?

_Slayer_. That was her, wasn't it?

That was supposed to be her. She was supposed to answer. The monster told her, once, that she was always meant to be a killer of things.

_No_. She didn't want to be a killer. She shook her head against the word, blocking it out. Her throat felt raw and she wondered if she'd been screaming, or if someone else had been using her voice again.

_Slayer. _Stronger this time; different. _I know you can hear me._ Of course she could hear it- it was in her head; in her darkness. Who else was there to hear it?

_I need you to wake up. I need your help. _Help? How could she help? She never had before, even when the voices screamed and cried and begged. She was never able to get there in time; never able to claw her way to the surface for long enough.

_I'm in here with you, now. I can't get out._ There was no getting out. She laughed. There was never any getting out. Was this a new game? The voice was new.

_I'm not new. You're just crazy._ The voice sounded like her mother had, before she'd been ripped open and pulled apart. Monsters do that; rip you open and scatter your insides. She liked her insides where they were, right inside her. She wrapped her arms around herself to keep them there. Protective.

_I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're not crazy. _The voice didn't say it, but she heard it all the same: _You're damaged._ Broken; scattered into so many pieces and places and parts. She'd heard that more than once, she thought. Maybe it was something she told herself? She couldn't be sure.

_You have to help me. I can't get out of here on my own and I… _The voice trailed off, hesitant. Afraid. She knew afraid; she knew what that felt like and something in her stomach clenched tight.

She remembered darkness and pain and being lost and separated from her family; she remembered that, so she knew what it felt like and that's what the voice was like. Lost. Alone. Scared.

She knew what it was like, but this… this wasn't hers. This was different. There was… hope.

Dana squeezed her eyes closed, drowning out the world, and stared inwards instead, willing everything to be quiet so she could listen; she needed to _listen._

"How did you get here?"


	19. What makes a Future

Disclaimer: I don't own Angel, BTVS or SPN, and Metallica own the song 'Nothing Else Matters', which I've quoted lyrics from.

A/N: OMG. Another chapter. Colour yourself lucky. ;)

* * *

"I swear, if anyone finds out I've done this, I'll kick your ass so hard that your grandmother will feel it." The bar was dark and it was past closing time- the Host had taken one look at him and kicked the rest of his clientele out.

Dean really didn't want to know what that signaled, but there he was, waiting for the demon to give him some kind of signal that he was ready. The green guy was kinda cool and he'd given them a round of drinks on the house, even, so Dean was feeling charitable. Plus, the guy was all smiley and cheery and Dean was certain he could take him- even half drunk and half grief-stricken.

Or half-drunk and completely grief stricken, if you want to get technical, but he was in the company of a Seer and a psychic (and Angel), so he didn't need to say anything. They already knew.

"Honey, my grandmother would eat you for breakfast- literally- and complain that you weren't tough enough." Dean almost laughed, because, seriously? _This_ guy had family like that? But the Host looked serious, so Dean bit back his snort. He shot an amused look at Angel though, and the Vampire was smiling, too. "I gotta lock up and then we'll do this thing, okay? Make yourselves at home." Dean watched as he retreated, keys jingling as he walked, before turning his attention back to Doyle.

Doyle, it turned out, was more than happy to take advantage of the other demon's hospitality- he'd nabbed the bottle of scotch from behind the bar as soon as the Host had announced he was closing.

"I haven't been at a Lock-in since college." Doyle grinned, downing what was left in his glass and refilling. "Those were the days- no visions to worry about; no clan drama; nothing to do but pretend I was studying and drink myself into oblivion." Dean couldn't help but laugh, just a little. The Seer was trying to cheer him up- he could tell. It was almost annoying that it was working.

There was another benefit, too- Dean hadn't known that Angel was originally Irish, but it seemed that the Seer did, and he was happy to tell story after story about the mother-country. Angel listened, wide-eyed. The little guy was pretty good at getting people to like him- even Hunters who should know better and the post-hell crazy Vampire.

"Okay, sweet-cheeks, I'm ready when you are." Lorne dragged a stool to the end of their booth and sat down, sea-breeze in hand. He looked relaxed and calm, but there was a tense energy in the air around him. Dean was pretty sure that Doyle had already warned the guy what to expect- and, in fairness, from what Doyle said it was pretty bad. A little warning was fair, between friends.

Oh, god. Was he really thinking of these people as his friends? He needed to stop drinking on the job. Or stop having earth-shattering revelations made to him around friendly demons, maybe.

"I just have to sing, right? Anything specific?"

Lorne shrugged, waving his free hand in the air.

"Whatever moves you- it's easier for me if you give it your all, though." That made sense, he supposed. The more you invest, the more you get back, right?

"Uh, okay. I haven't done this in public… ever. So, yeah, sorry if I suck." He hunched a little into his seat, took one final swig from his beer, and sang.

"So close, no matter how far," Metallica, of course- if he had to sing, he was gonna sing a bad-ass song, "Couldn't be much more from the heart," Eat that, Lorne. "Forever trust in who we are," Because he was a _Winchester_, dammit, and that meant something. "And nothing else matters." He was just getting into it- getting to the chorus, in fact, when Lorne raised one hand to stop him.

"Okay, that's enough! I don't need any more!" He hadn't paled or anything but he sounded shaken and he finished his drink in one swallow.

"Damn. I didn't think I was _that_ bad." He forced levity into his voice and it worked, a little, to lighten the mood. Doyle had already dropped the big bombshell- demon deals; Slayer bodyguard; something he was supposed to do sometime that made someone think he was the shit.

"You have a lovely voice, kiddo, but honestly, I am not a metal fan."

They fell silent, waiting, and giving Lorne time to gather his thoughts. Doyle could (and did) sympathise- from what he'd seen, and from what he'd already told Dean, the future was painful and hard.

"First off- there's a lot of blank spots. Someone, or something, is blocking me from seeing a lot of what's out there for you." Doyle nodded- that's what he'd felt, too. Something was stopping him from seeing the big picture. "Secondly, whoever is behind this has some serious juju at their disposal- splitting the Slayer line has never been done before. There have _never_ been two Slayers before, so you've gotta be careful, kid. Whoever is guiding the Slayer is guiding you- so if she dreams something, you _listen._" Dean could only nod- he'd always listened to Faith and he'd always trusted her dreams. He didn't like the idea that they were coming from someone, or something, with an agenda, but they were saving people and killing demons- that was his job.

"And you're definitely important, kid. That much is crystal clear. Your mom made a deal with the Yellow-Eyed Demon that your father has been hunting and I don't know what he got out of it but… You and your brother- you two are gonna do something that'll change the world." Dean noted the significant lack of Faith in that sentence. Sammy and him, but not Faith? Something in his gut clenched.

"And my sister?" He was terrified to hear the answer.

"She'll be there too but whatever they want you for, the Slayers are playing second fiddle." The relief was instant; washing over him in a wave and Dean let his head fall into his hands, scrubbing his face to clear any embarrassing emotion.

"Any idea how to get her out of her freaking coma? And what attacked her in the first place?"

Doyle frowned, holding up his hands and waving them around to catch everyone's attention.

"Wait, wait, wait- your sister was attacked? But she's been in that hospital for years. I thought a human drove her crazy?" Dean blinked, confused.

"No… my sister was attacked a few weeks ago. She's in a hospital in Montana, in a coma. The girl in the hospital is the new Slayer." He didn't like revealing it- not when the Council thought Faith was dead- but they'd have figured that out alone anyway. Seer. Psychic. He couldn't hide much.

Lorne and Doyle shared a loaded glance and Dean didn't like it. What the hell did they know that he didn't?

"Dean, the new Slayer… She's important, too. She's part of this." Yeah, okay, he kinda wished they hadn't told him. He could suddenly see where this was going and he _really_ didn't like it.

"But she's not my sister- what about Faith?" He pushed away the thought of the poor, crazy, Slayer, and glared directly at Lorne instead.

"If you want to save Faith, you're going to have to save this girl, too. The Watchers Council won't leave her there forever- a crazy Slayer is a useless Slayer." Dean didn't need it explained. He knew what the Council were capable of. He knew all too well.

"Save the girl; save Faith… and then what?" Lorne shrugged, apologetic.

"That's all I've got for now, kid. Save the Slayers, so they can keep you alive until you do whatever it is you gotta do."

That was just… a giant ball of suck. Dean said as much, slamming his fist against the table-top and rocking it enough that Doyle's drink spilled a little.

"How the hell am I supposed to do that? Not to mention, what the hell am I supposed to do with her if I _do_ get her out? You said she's been in there for years- she's gotta be buckets of nuts to be locked up for that long! Not to forget that she's a _Slayer_ and therefore completely capable of breaking me in half!"

Silence fell; Doyle contemplated his drink as Lorne stared at the ground. For all they'd seen, they couldn't predict how to manage a crazy Slayer.

"She's not just a Slayer. She's a girl, too, and she's been trapped in there for a long time." Dean startled; surprised. "And if anyone can help her come back to herself, it's you. You know how."

Son of a bitch.

"You think?" It wasn't completely appropriate, but Dean was so proud he wanted to cry.

"I know. You've done it for me, haven't you?"

Angel; Angelus; Liam; whatever his name was, smiled and ducked his head, almost embarrassed, and the Hunter felt something swell in his chest that he'd been missing since they'd seen the hospital.

Hope.

"Damn right, dude. We can do this." He had no other choice. Besides, if a hell-crazed vampire could crawl back to sanity from wherever he'd been trapped, then surely a human girl could do the same? "I can do this." The words bolstered him a little; settled him in his seat and suddenly, he was eager for action. He could get his sister back- all he had to do was get into that hospital and get the girl out. Cake.

"Okay, let's do this. We've gotta get the jump on those Council bitches." The Council were the priority- they were the ones most likely to either hurt the girl or take her away and he couldn't afford either scenario.

Faith was on the line, here, and he'd be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to save her.

He didn't know, but it was exactly that train of thought that led Mary Winchester to making a deal with a demon, years before. Sitting around a table with three of them, Dean didn't even wonder about the irony. He had a job to do and determination hardened and settled in his belly.

He was a Winchester, dammit, and he was going to do what he did best- save people. Hunt things. He'd be damned if he was going to let her down.

* * *

Sam stared at the glass in his hand, repulsed. The liquid within was kinda yellow and viscous… like jello that was just starting to set. And it had a hunk of Faith's hair in it, too, which was gross.

"Sammy, if you don't want to do this we can find another way." His dad meant it, too, which was enough to make Sam square his shoulders, take a deep breath and drink it all down in one swallow. He almost choked at the taste; gagging a little and praying that he wouldn't vomit. Bobby only had so much of the dream-root; they couldn't afford to have him vomit it up.

_Stop being a little bitch, Sam. You've gotta do this._ The voice in his head sounded strangely like Dean and he wished, suddenly, that he'd been able to talk to his brother before doing this.

But they didn't have time. The doctors were saying that Faith's body was never going to wake up. They wanted to take her off the ventilator; take her off life-support.

Sam had to do this, and he had to wake her up- there was no question. She was tough; she would be okay. She just needed some help, maybe.

He swallowed hard, pushing back down the bile that was creeping up his throat.

"That was gross." His dad smiled sadly and wrapped one strong arm around Sam's shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Sammy. Now you just need to go to sleep and when you dream, you should be where Faith is." They were pretty sure she was trapped in her own mind, and Sam knew there were enough crap things in Faith's mind to keep her trapped in there forever.

She'd never told him, exactly, what her life had been like before she'd been with them. Hell, Sam barely remembered what it had been like before they found her. But she'd said enough, and he'd heard her screams in the night-time often enough to know that there was some seriously heavy shit. He could imagine the rest; he didn't need the details.

"Be careful in there Sammy. You're gonna see things you don't want to and there's gonna be some scary shit, okay, but you've gotta remember that anything that you see in there has already happened. You can't change it, and Faith isn't there anymore, okay?" And jeez, they should have had this conversation before he drank the dream-juice because Sam was suddenly convinced that he couldn't do this.

"Dad, I don't know if I'm the right one for this. You should do it. Or Dean, maybe." Dean wouldn't fuck it up; Dean wouldn't be so afraid of what he might find. John's arm tightened around his shoulder and Sam curled into the embrace, just a little.

"You can do this, Sammy. I wouldn't have let you drink it if I didn't think that." And John sounded certain, too, which was almost enough to squeeze down the panic in his throat. "Take care of yourself in there and look out for your sister, okay?"

Look out for Faith. He could do that. He'd been doing it for years, long before she was a Slayer. He blinked slowly, eyes heavy, and barely noticed his dad lying him down on the bed. _Look after your sister_. Dean wasn't here, but Sam could do it, just this once.

_Look after your sister_. She was waiting for him, wasn't she? She needed him to come and get her. His eyelids sank shut and blackness; never-ending darkness, claimed him.

This wasn't sleep.

This wasn't a dream.

This was empty and alone, and Sam couldn't see or hear Faith anywhere.

_Faith!_ In his head, the word echoed and echoed and bounced back to him from a thousand directions and Sam spun 'round, trying to catch it. Trying to find something; anything, that resembled anything that he recognised.

But there was nothing- empty space and cold, empty air. Sam shivered, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to keep himself together. It was difficult- there was so much _space_ and he was so small in it all.

Where was she? Where was she hiding?

_Faith! Where are you?_ He wished his father was there- John would know what to do. He always did. Even when Sam didn't agree with him, John always had an idea.

**Brother**_**.**_ Sam spun, shielding his eyes from the sudden light. **You are not my brother. **

She was crouched and dirty; hair matted and her skin painted crudely.

She was not his sister, but part of him recognised her, all the same.

_Slayer?_ The woman's eyes flashed and the light flared and suddenly there was desert where there had been darkness; an endless stretch of red sand and blue sky.

**You are not my brother. But you are like him. **She was watching him carefully; cautiously. Considering. **I have no brothers now.**

_Faith is my sister. Do you know where she is? I've come to get her out of here._ Wherever here was. He blinked against the light and watched the Slayer watch him.

Silence stretched between them and Sam felt the sweat building on his forehead and across his back. The air was hot and dry and he was already thirsty; the taste of dream-root in his mouth was acrid and he felt tired, though he knew he was sleeping.

**She is not here. She is with the other.**

_The other? _The other what? Another version of Faith? Another part of her, somewhere in her mind? The Slayer seemed to know his thoughts, because she laughed and he could see her teeth.

Some of them were filed to points and he winced.

**They are bound. There should not be another. **Sam could only blink and watch as she approached him, sniffing the air and staring at him. **Soon I shall be free to rejoin my brothers and then there will be none. **

He couldn't pretend to understand _any_ of that. What the hell?

_Where's Faith?_ He needed to find her; quickly. He was too warm and he could feel his body slipping toward wakefulness. The sun began to dim and he could see the Slayer's teeth gleaming in the darkness.

**You can't have her. **

_Give her to me! She's my sister! She doesn't belong to you! _He fought against the pull of waking, but he couldn't win that battle- the Slayer was laughing at him, amusement clear in her eyes and her smile.

**She is not yours, child of Cain. Begone.**

And he woke, clutching his chest and wiping away furious tears. His father, standing over him, didn't look disappointed or angry. He looked sad; heartbroken and sad.

That was worse.


	20. What makes Forgiveness

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN or BTVS. This was written purely for my own entertainment.

A/N: Jumping back in time, so we're set about two years after Faith joined Clan Winchester.

Warning: References to child abuse, but nothing graphic.

* * *

It started with the words, "Daddy, I think I'm dying" and before John really knew what was happening, he'd cleaned out the motel room, packed the kids into the car and abandoned his search for a vigilante ghost mid-Hunt. He called Caleb, of course, and asked the other man to come and do the rest of the scut work, but it was easy- John had already narrowed his search to two possibilities.

He told the boys to shut up and stop complaining and invited Faith to sit with him in the front seat- she never got to sit there and she spent the first hundred miles smirking at Dean.

He told her, of course, that she wasn't dying. He just had no idea what was supposed to come _after_ that and they were practically in Nebraska anyway, so it made sense to go to the Roadhouse bar. He drove all night to get there, stopping only for gas and bathroom breaks, and the kids were sprawled out across the seats when he finally turned into the parking lot.

Dean's eyes snapped open when he shut off the engine and John turned to his eldest, handing him the keys.

"Keep an eye on your brother and sister. I'll be back in ten. Don't get out of the car."

The sign over the door read 'Harvelle's Roadhouse' and there had been a time that the bar was as familiar to John as the inside of Bobby Singer's house. But that had been years before, and as far as he knew, Ellen Harvelle still wanted nothing to do with him. He couldn't blame her for it- he'd been there when her husband, Bill, died and while it wasn't _exactly_ his fault, John was the only one that Ellen could blame. The monster who'd killed him was dead, and John couldn't blame her for holding a grudge. Hell, he was holding a grudge against the thing that had killed his own wife and he didn't even know for sure what it was.

The door was open, despite the early hour, but John didn't take more than a step inside. The bar was empty; last night's beer bottles still littering the tables.

"Hello? Ellen? You here?" His gaze drifted, taking in the changes. There weren't many- a new pool table; some new furniture; a Seal of Solomon to protect against demons on the ceiling above the doorway. Little things.

"I thought I told you never to come here again." She was just like he remembered- a little older, maybe, but still waving a shotgun and glaring at him like he was the antichrist.

"I wouldn't, unless I really had to. You know that."

"Christo." Checking for demonic possession- made sense. There'd been a time that he would have _had_ to be possessed to cross her threshold again. He walked under the Seal and kept his eyes on her. He also kept his hands raised because Lord knows that Ellen had an itchy trigger finger when it suited her.

"I ain't a demon, Harvelle. I need a favour." The woman lowered her weapon slowly, and raised her eyebrows. What the hell did John Winchester want from her that he hadn't already taken? "I got my daughter Faith in the car. She's about the same age as Joanna Beth and, well, she needs a woman to talk to."

There was silence for a moment as what he'd said sank in. Since when did John have a daughter, for starters? Ellen knew as well as anyone that there was no way that John had ever cheated on his wife. No way, no how. She asked as much and he shrugged, sheepish.

"These things happen, Ellen." Bullshit.

"So, what, you're recruiting? Dragging your own babies into this goddamn fight isn't enough for you, you gotta bring someone else's?" They'd had this fight before, a time or two. John fought down his desire to snap back at her- he needed her and he wouldn't get anywhere if he started an argument. Or let her start one.

"It's not like that. Faith's not… she's my kid, okay? Every bit as much as Sammy and Dean, she's my kid." Whatever she was looking for in him, she must have seen because she finally put the shotgun down on the bar and relaxed, just a fraction.

"And what, exactly, does she need to talk to a woman about? Boys? Breasts?" To Ellen's delight, big, bad John Winchester flushed a deep red colour.

"Aw, hell, woman, don't make me say it." She grinned, wickedly, enjoying his discomfort.

"Oh, I think I wanna hear you say it."

* * *

He watched from across the bar as Ellen and Faith talked, heads bent low together. Beside him, the boys ate their way through a box of fruit loops and a gallon of milk. Sam was heading for a growth spurt, John thought, judging by how much food he'd been eating lately. Dean, too, maybe, though the seventeen year old was already almost six foot tall. The boys didn't ask and didn't complain- not even Sam, wonder of wonders- when he'd herded them into the Roadhouse and ushered Faith over to talk to Ellen without telling them why. Neither of them even asked who Ellen was or where they were- just fell on their breakfast as if he'd been starving them. He was sure the questions would come, later. Maybe when they were back in the car.

It didn't take long, whatever Ellen was talking to her about. They disappeared upstairs for a while and when they came back, Ellen was dragging Jo along with her. The other girl was shorter than Faith, and slighter, and was the image of her daddy- John wasn't ashamed to admit that his heart clenched at the sight. Bill Harvelle, in the form of a blonde eleven year old girl. The glare the girl wore was one hundred per cent Ellen, though, and when she leveled it at him, he almost flinched. Almost, because grown men _do not_ flinch away from little children.

"Jo, this is my friend John and his boys Dean and Sam. Boys, this is my girl Jo. She's going to show you where you'll be staying." John couldn't hide his own surprise and saw it mirrored in his sons. Faith was grinning, though.

"Boys, go with Jo."

"How long we staying?" Sam grumped, directing his question at his father, but it was Ellen who answered.

"I say three, maybe four days." John groaned and the kids glared at him, but moved, following the girl out of the bar and into the back rooms- he'd stayed there plenty of times before, but never with his kids. He didn't like the Roadhouse crowd when they were younger, but maybe now would be okay. He knew they'd make him pay for it later, because they all hated staying in the tiny towns, or the off-the-road motels and you couldn't find more out-of-the-way-middle-of-nowhere than the Roadhouse.

Besides, it wasn't as if he had a choice in the matter- Ellen had that look in her eye that said she'd skin him alive if he tried to defy her. And it might be good for the boys to spend some time around a woman that they _couldn't_ charm with a grin and a wink.

Especially Dean.

"She okay?" Safer to keep the conversation on the kid than to try and ask Ellen how'd she'd been all these years.

"She's fine." Ellen slid into the seat opposite him, keeping her eyes on the backroom, making sure the kids were gone.; trusting John to watch the front door over her shoulder, just like old times. "I stopped being angry with you a long time ago, Johnny. If you need anything else for that girl, you come right back here, you hear?" It wasn't a question, not really. John felt a weight lifting that he hadn't even really known was there. God, there were things that he wasn't prepared to deal with yet.

"Thank you." He meant it, too. "I wasn't sure… there was a lot of bad things done to that kid and I wasn't sure she'd ever…well. You know. So thank you." Ellen frowned, equal parts concerned and furious, but she didn't question him further. She didn't need to- she knew what he meant and she wasn't sure she wanted to know any more.

He'd done some research, after Faith came to live with him. She'd been through a lot and he'd wanted to know what was coming down the line. He'd needed to know; needed to be able to prepare as best he could. That hadn't quite worked, obviously, but he was relieved to know that she wasn't… damaged. Inside. Things were working the way things were supposed to work. He reddened, a little, even just thinking about it.

They sat in silence for a minute or two, but it wasn't as awkward as he thought it would be.

"She also told me to tell you that she owes Dean twenty bucks- he'd bet her that you'd do something like this. Apparently, she got her first period a couple of months ago." His mouth dropped open and he gaped, even as Ellen laughed. "You sure have got your work cut out for you, Johnny."


	21. What makes Imprisonment

Disclaimer: As always, I still don't own either SPN or BTVS.

A/N: Many thanks to all who have read and reviewed- I really appreciate all your feedback, and I'm glad that you're enjoying this story still! :)

* * *

For a long time, maybe hours, after he woke up, Sam sat on the edge of his bed, staring out the window. His father was asleep across the hall- Sam could hear him breathing heavily, one breath where there should be three. He wasn't afraid, exactly, to go back to sleep, but he was sure that if he tried it, before the dream root was gone completely, that he'd fall back into the same place as before. And whatever place that was, it wasn't somewhere that he could find his sister.

Whatever he'd met in the dreamscape, it hadn't been any real part of Faith- but Bobby and John had agreed (and, wonder of wonders, they'd actually _agreed_ on something) with Sam when he said it was the Slayer part of her. Best case scenario, it was protecting her as she slept. Worst case, there was nothing else left in there but Slayer, and Faith was gone.

Sam refused to accept it- he couldn't. Faith couldn't be _gone_. She wouldn't leave him. She'd promised him, more than once, that she would always be around. Maybe it wasn't fair to hold her to it, because she was a Slayer and a Hunter and there was no way that she could make that promise, but he felt betrayed all the same. Hurt, like she had a choice in the matter.

He shivered, thinking of her lying alone in the hospital and of the vast empty space inside her dreams. She hated being alone. She hated sitting still even more. She'd hated it for as long as Sam had known her, always twitching and itching to move and be where the action was. _Is, _dammit, because she's not dead. Not yet.

He wasn't sure what else they could do, or even if there was anything else that they could try. Bobby had already scoured all his books for everything they had on Slayers and anything he could find about prolonged sleep or comas. But Faith's coma wasn't mystical- she'd been choked by something supernatural, sure, but the lack of oxygen to her brain was what had caused her injuries.

There was nothing else they could try, not when the dream-root had failed. A séance, maybe, but even if they reached her, that wouldn't help her wake up. Sam was afraid to ask, in case they _did_ try only to find out that the Reaper had already taken her away. If she'd already crossed over there was nothing anyone could do- not even Faith herself.

He finally moved, long after his limbs grew heavy and stiff, to check his phone after it lit up with a text- it was late at night, sure, but Dean wouldn't care about that. His brother's text was short and to the point.

_Closing in on the new girl. Watchers here. Being careful. _Sam knew without asking that Dean had sent the same message to them all- his father's phone beeped, too, across the hall, though John didn't wake. The dream-root had been a bust and maybe there was nothing left to save, but the new girl… she might be able to tell them what they needed to hunt, instead.

* * *

Dean listened as the three demons talked around him- they were planning a break-in to the hospital, arguing about how to get in and how to subdue the Watchers without anyone getting hurt.

Doyle and Lorne were alright, for demons and for seers, but Dean would listen to Angel, he thought. Angel was the one who knew him and Angel was the one that Dean trusted to watch his back- even if Angel-who-talks was a much different beast to the Sparky he'd met months previously. The Hunter was pretty sure that Angel was used to getting his own way and he was reminded strongly of his father. It was probably a good thing that the vampire had waited until they were in L.A. to have his snap back to reality, all things considered.

It was good, seeing him talk. Better still, seeing him fight and argue and cast grumpy looks at the clothes he was wearing. Dean almost wanted to laugh- if he thought the jeans (regular blue denim) and the shirt (blue and black plaid) were bad, wait 'til he saw the boots. It was good- Faith had been right. All they had to do was wait and he came back to himself.

They were planning to send Angel in- or, Angel was arguing that he should be the one to go in, while Doyle and Lorne distracted the Watchers and Dean waited in the car. Dean recognized the protective vibe that Angel was sending out- it was the same one that had been following him for months, ripping creatures limb from limb on his behalf. But Angel should have known better- there was no way that Dean was sitting on the sidelines for something like this. No way. And yeah, he trusted the guy, but he was still a vampire and the girl was still a _Slayer_. Dean had spent too much time keeping _Angel_ safe to even consider sending him into the hospital alone. And of course Doyle and Lorne were no better.

"I gotta take a leak. Bathroom?" Lorne pointed toward the exit door,

"Out the door on your left, sugar." He nodded his thanks and brushed past the demon as he climbed out of the booth and proceeded to cross the room quickly. The bathroom was cleaner than he'd expected- Lorne ran a tight ship, it seemed. Back in the hall, and no longer underground, there was reception on his phone again. It was late- more than late enough to check in with his family. He dialed loudly, obviously, and straight through to his father's voicemail. It was too late to check in- John wouldn't appreciate the wake-up, especially when he had no news.

But it was enough to give Angel no reason to follow him when he made his way up the stairs and out the door. Lorne hadn't noticed when Dean had lifted the keys from his jacket pocket- the Seer was far too trusting, in the Hunter's opinion. Or maybe Lorne had known what he was planning and had let him get away with it? Either way, he locked the door behind himself, hoping that he'd earn an extra minute or two. All he needed to do was get to the hospital first.

Seriously, how long had Angel been traveling with him, and he hadn't seen this coming? Dean grinned, sitting into the Impala and starting her up, heading back to the institution. Clearly the vampire wasn't playing with a full deck, just yet.

The hospital was only minutes away, at least the way Dean drove. He took a second to compose himself before driving straight up to the gates, manned by an armed guard, even at this hour. He supposed there were some dangerous crazies housed here- criminals and murderers and the like. The thought just made his blood boil.

The guard let him pass without question. Dean was young, still, to pass as F.B.I, but it was dark and late and the guard was a pretty decent guy. Not everyone automatically saw the bad in people. Besides, it's wasn't like many people actually _wanted_ to get into the mental hospital. Dean just drove on in, parking in one of the reserved spaces by the front door, carefully positioning the passenger door so that the guard at the gates couldn't see it- he was at least trying to plan for success, though he was only intending to scout the place.

Across the street, behind the high fence, he could see the Watcher's car still parked. It was too dark and far away to confirm that they were still in it, but the car, at least, was there.

There were two guards at the check-in desk (glorified reception, as far as Dean was concerned).

"Evening, boys." He flashed the badge early, grinning as if to say there was nothing strange about dropping by the facility at such a late hour. "I'm Agent Bonham. I need to talk to whoever's in charge tonight." He made sure to smile and grin and push his jacket back just enough that they'd see his standard-issue firearm and holster. The gun and badge were usually enough to convince most people that he was legit, even if he was too young and not in the suit-and-tie Fed uniform.

Neither of them questioned it- Lefty just nodded, handed over a sign-in sheet and led him past the security point, through the locked doors and up the stairs.

"The deputy director is on call here tonight- usually he wouldn't be, but some of the staff are off sick." Lefty, who introduced himself as Bo, led the way down a brightly lit corridor to the deputy director's office. "This is it." He knocked and waited for the voice inside to call them in. Bo opened the door and ushered Dean inside- clearly, Righty had called ahead, because the man was expecting him.

"You can go, Bo. I'll see the Agent out when we're finished." Despite the late hour, the man was fresh-faced and bright-eyed. Bo nodded to them both and closed the door behind him. "What can I do for you, Agent Bonham?"

"Please, call me John." The man's eyebrow quirked but he didn't say anything. Dean just shrugged, knowingly. "Blame my mother, sir." They shook hands and the doctor- Crawford, according to the nameplate- gestured for Dean to take a seat. The office was small and the walls were lined with bookcases and filing cabinets. They were separated only by a cheap, metal desk.

"Well, John, what can I do for you? It's not everyday that the F.B.I send someone along in the dead of night." Dean nodded, agreeing.

"It's not a usual situation, sir. We have some intel that says a patient of yours is going to be busted out of here soon. You know anything about that?" Crawford looked surprised, frowning deeply. Concerned, even.

"That's not possible, Agent. Our security is impeccable. Where did this information come from?" Despite the denial, he looked worried. Worried would work for Dean.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that, sir, but…" Dean swallowed, nervously, "the patient in question is a young woman. We weren't given a name, but she's been here for a long time. From what I understand, she had a very traumatic childhood and it's possible that the person who inflicted that trauma is interested in… revisiting it." Dean didn't know any details, but he could only hope that the description would narrow his search. He sure as hell didn't have the Watcher's information.

Something seemed to click for Crawford, though, and he paled, his dark skin turning almost grey.

"There were two men here yesterday, asking about one of my patients. They said they were reporters, following the story of what happened to her." The man stood quickly, turning to the filing cabinet behind him and rooting around for a moment before pulling out a thick file.

"These men, what did they want to know?"

"They asked about her treatment, about how she is now." He swallowed hard, sitting down again and clenching his hands around the file. "They wanted to know how likely it was that she'd ever be released."

Dean let that settle, just for a second, before pushing forward.

"Anything you can tell me about them? Or better yet, have you got the security footage from your meeting?" The director shook his head slowly, thinking hard.

"Two white guys, late forties. One of them was British, I think, or Irish maybe. I'll have Bo get the footage." He made a call to the desk, requesting the information with terse tones. He was definitely worried- it was heartening, a little at least, to see that the man actually cared for his patients.

"Which patient is it?" She must have been one of Crawford's own, because he thumbed through her file with familiar ease.

"Her name is Dana. She's almost seventeen, now, but she's been here for more than five years." He found whatever he'd been looking for and handed it to Dean. Her intake sheet, dated five years previously.

She'd been admitted following her imprisonment and torture at the hands of a madman who had killed her family. In front of her, it seemed. Dean blinked back his shock, though some of it must have shone through onto his face as the director's expression softened.

"You're new, aren't you? I wish I could say that these cases get easier but… it's better if they don't." Dean just nodded dumbly, swallowing hard himself, almost overwhelmed.

Monsters he could understand, but people? People were just plain crazy.

"Can we… could we check on her? I know your security is good but I think… I'd feel better if I could see her with my own eyes." He let his worry color his voice and Crawford nodded, snatching up her file and his keys and gesturing for Dean to exit the office ahead of him. He carried a radio on his belt, Dean noticed, and a pager in his coat pocket. His facility I.D. hung on the outside of the same pocket and Dean watched closely as the man entered his security PIN at the entrance to the residential wing.

There were three floors of single rooms, each one manned by a security guard and a nurse for the night shift. Crawford talked in low tones as they walked, explaining the facility and the treatments they offered. The dangerous prisoners, with much higher security levels, were housed in a separate wing, to the back of the building. Dean nodded and asked questions here and there, but was mostly content to just follow the older man, taking note of the layout as they went.

Finally, after what seemed like an endless maze of hallways and locked doors, Crawford stopped outside 3.16. The room inside was dimly lit by a blue light on the ceiling and the door had a small window set in it at eye-level. Crawford glanced in first before moving aside to let Dean see.

"She's recently started sleeping during the day, so I expect she's awake now." She was lying on the bed, but Dean could see that she was, indeed, awake. Awake and strapped down, so she couldn't move anyway.

"Why the straps?" Crawford sighed, seemingly sad.

"She hurts herself, sometimes. We have to use the straps to keep her safe." He didn't sound like he agreed with the practice, which gained him a few more points in Dean's book.

"Would it be possible to speak with her? If we have those pictures, she might be able to give us a positive I.D." The man who'd hurt her had never been found, but Dean was confident that there would be no harm in showing her the photographs of two Watchers- there was no way for her to know who they were. Crawford had never let them near her.

The doctor was reluctant, though, to expose her to the possibility and Dean could only agree. All the same, Crawford retreated to the nurse's station to call down to Bo, leaving Dean alone at the door.

He watched the man walk away before turning back to the window. Only years of training and experience as a Hunter stopped him from jumping a mile (though he definitely jumped; no question, and maybe even squealed a little) as he looked up to see the girl staring at him through the glass.

She was a Slayer, after all- no bonds could hold her. Perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised. Her eyes were intent, staring directly at him and her dark hair fell around her face, blocking his view of the rest of the room.


	22. What makes Escape

Disclaimer: Don't own SPN or BTVS.

A/N: Onward!

* * *

Wide, dark eyes stared out at him and Dean felt a shiver run across his spine. She said something, but he couldn't hear her through the door. All he could do was stare back, trying to relax and not frighten her. He heard Crawford coming back, the nurse with him, and he looked away finally to watch the doctor approach.

"Bo is having some trouble with the security feed. He said that he video from last night seems to be on a loop- we have no proof that those men were ever here." Clever watchers. Dean was almost impressed. He frowned, though, looking worried for the doctor's sake. The nurse, whose name-tag identified her as Caroline, looked worried, too.

"No one has noticed anything out of the ordinary, according to the logs, but we've been understaffed this week because of the virus." She looked worried. "But I'm sure someone would have noticed if anyone tried to gain access to this floor." Dean just nodded and thanked her, hoping that she'd go back to her desk, but she pulled out the door key instead. "Deputy Director Crawford said you'd like to speak with Dana? It's hospital policy that no female patient is alone with a male employee or visitor at any time, so I'll be in there with you both." She brushed by them both and opened the door without looking inside. Dean held his breath, anxious, but he needn't have- Dana was on her bed, her eyes open and staring, but the straps were in place.

He shook his head, confused, but took it in stride, following the doctor and nurse into the room.

"Dana, this is Agent Bonham. He'd like to have a few words with you, if that's okay?" The nurse spoke slowly and calmly, even as she moved the visitor's chair to the edge of the bed and motioned Dean forward to take a seat.

"Hi Dana, my name is John." Her eyes narrowed, as if she knew he was lying. He wouldn't put it past her- Slayers had some nifty powers. "The director might not like me telling you this, but there are people coming for you." Behind him, Crawford tensed and grabbed at his shoulder, but Dana just blinked. After a few tense moments, the doctor relaxed, though Dean heard him grumbling under his breath. "I'm not going to let them hurt you, okay? I swear, I won't let them take you." He met her gaze, startled by the intensity he saw there. She might be crazy, and she might have been locked in a small room for years, but she was far from stupid. Crawford said she didn't react much and spent a lot of her time drugged up, but Dean couldn't see that in her eyes.

Instead, he could see _Slayer._ He could see strength and power and what it took to survive in a world that had forgotten about you. She had what Faith had, whatever that was. He felt a warmth of something in his chest, but tried to squash it. She wasn't his sister. She wasn't _Faith_. He had to remember that.

He wasn't quite sure what to do next- he wanted to get her out of here and get her away from the Watchers, but maybe she'd be safer here, now, with the staff informed? Or would that be worse, now that they knew? He cursed himself quietly, wishing that he'd brought back-up with him. His father or Bobby would be really useful about now. Even Doyle would have been great- but he was glad Angel had never made it inside. The hallways had mirrors on every corner and Caroline was wearing a cross around her neck. As much as he wanted the girl out, he wasn't willing to risk Angel. He was thinking, waiting for inspiration to strike, when Dana made his decision for him.

"Brother?" Dean startled, though he wouldn't admit to it later. The medical staff jumped, too, surprised to hear their patient talking. She almost never talked and when she did, it never made any sense.

"No, Dana. This is Agent Bonham, not Tommy."

"Not Tommy." She repeated, agreeing. "Dean." There was no change in her tone; nothing to indicate that she even knew what she'd said, but Dean felt the blood drain from his face. How the hell did she know who he was? He forced himself to raise a questioning eyebrow at the doctor, who could only shrug. She'd never spoken of anyone else in all the time she'd been with them.

Dean wondered if the Slayer being called had woken the girl. Was that possible? Hell if he knew.

"Dana, how are you feeling?" Crawford leaned in close, using a penlight to check her pupil response. Dean wondered why- the girl was obviously lucid. Ish. Well, maybe it was more obvious to him because he knew who Dean was.

"Strong." She grinned, a half-terrifying smile. Crawford didn't seem to notice, moving his hand to her neck to check her pulse. Behind him, the nurse was noting something on a clipboard.

"Do you remember who I am, Dana?" He'd said that he'd been seeing her for years, but she only sometimes knew who he was.

"Yes." She didn't sound sure though and when the doctor stepped back and out of the way, the girl's eyes met Dean's and he was reminded once again of his sister, years younger and hiding in a dirty, smelly apartment in Southie. "Doctor." That seemed to satisfy him and he moved back fully, conferring with the nurse about dosages and medications and other crap that Dean didn't really understand.

She was conscious; she was lucid, and she was definitely aware. Whatever Slayer mojo had been injected into her was keeping her up at night, he knew. Maybe she'd even been waiting- if her dreams were anything like Faith's, then she might have been expecting him. He hadn't anticipated that.

"Do you want to sit up?" He asked, reaching forward to the restraints, ready to let her go. But he didn't need to- she sprang up on her own, leaping past him to Crawford and forcing the doctor down onto her bed. With her other hand, she grasped Caroline by the neck and forced her to her knees.

"Leave now?" Dean, half-standing, registered it as a question, aimed directly at him. He forced himself to stand properly and looked down at Crawford. The man looked confused, but not afraid. He didn't know that there was any reason for him to be afraid.

"Yeah, Dana. We're leaving now." He reached over and took Crawford's radio, smashing it against the wall, and returned to snag the doctor's I.D. Crawford protested, but Dana had closed the door and Dean knew that no-one would hear him calling out.

"I'm sorry, doc, I really am. But you heard the girl- we've gotta go. She's been here long enough." Dean tied the doctor down quickly, trapping his arms in the hand restraints before moving slowly toward Dana. He reached out, taking Caroline by the shoulder, and tugged the woman from the Slayer's grip.

"You can't do this, John, she's not ready to face the world! She could seriously hurt herself. Or someone else! She's dangerous." He was pleading, and Dean had to give him kudos for trying. Caroline remained silent, tears snaking down her cheeks.

"I'm really sorry." He took her radio, too, and her I.D. and secured her hands in the leg restraints. The angle was awkward and looked uncomfortable, but he hoped she wouldn't be there for long. "Dana, I need you to wait here until I call you, okay?" She nodded, eyes bright and watching his every move. Dean made his way out of the room- the _cell_- and down the hallway to the nurse's station. The lone security guard, turned to watch his approach, cheerfully unaware of what had just happened.

"Hey, Larry. Can you pull up the logs on the computer here? Caroline said that no-one had reported anything strange, but I'd like to take a look for myself." The man nodded and turned, and Dean hoped he didn't feel any pain when he used the butt of his gun to knock him out. His I.D. and radio made it into Dean's pocket and the Hunter called out for Dana to join him.

She was quick and quiet and when he glanced up from behind the nurse's station- Larry, bound hand and feet and out of sight,- she was standing over him. Her shoulders hunched forward a little and her white hospital scrubs just made her look younger than she was. And she was looking at him with such friggin' hope in her eyes… how the hell did these things happen to him, anyway?

"Why do you trust me so much, kid?" Because he'd finally realized why she reminded him of Faith- the look she was leveling his way was completely trusting; almost awed and even thankful. He hadn't seen it from Faith in a long time, but he remembered it.

"Dean good. Kill bad things. Heart, head. Sister strong, like Dana. Say Dean good. Good brother." Her words were muddled, but the meaning seemed clear. Ish.

"Can you get dressed? You need to put these on." He'd found the nurse's scrubs and coat behind the desk and his heart was in his throat as she nodded. She stripped in the open, not even trying to hide herself. Dean caught a single glimpse of her scar-littered torso before he turned his head away. She dressed quickly and he was relieved to see that she looked closer to her actual age in blue scrubs. The coat was a little big on her and she had no shoes, but it would have to do. "Let's go." He remembered to swipe her file from the top of the nurse's station, tucking the large packet into the inside of his coat. He didn't want to, but he thought he should probably read it.

He used Crawford's I.D. to get them to the stairwell, instructing Dana to keep her head down and her face hidden from the security cameras. The last thing he wanted to do was fight his way past the security guards. They found a staff room on the second floor and he found her some shoes, though they didn't quite fit, and she shoved her feet into them happily. She didn't talk and she was happy to follow him and do as he asked, and Dean could only wait for the other penny to drop. It couldn't be this easy. Not that it had been easy- he was sweating and stressed and _Christ_ but he'd kill someone for a strong drink, but… she'd come with him willingly.

That notion had never even crossed his mind- in every scenario he'd thought of, she'd been unwilling, or unable, to follow him. This girl, dancing along behind him in an almost-carefree manner, taking the stairs two at a time and smiling, was nothing like he'd expected.

They reached the ground floor in what must have been only minutes but it felt like days. He'd parked just outside the front door, but he couldn't risk taking her that way- instead, they made their way through darkened hallways, searching for an emergency exit. There was one, far at the back, and Dana watched, intrigued, as Dean tried to pick the padlock in the dark, using the wrong tools and with his hands trembling. Seriously, who padlocked an emergency exit?

"Dammit." He cursed, resisting the urge to shoot the frigging lock. Taking a deep breath, he moved to try again, only to find Dana's hand blocking his way.

"Dana strong." She reminded him, her tone almost scolding. With a single twist of her wrist, she snapped the lock from the chain, the door opened and they were free.

Seeing her standing there, her stolen coat gleaming in the orange light of the parking lot as she took a deep breath of fresh, night air, Dean felt his stomach clench tight. He'd felt like this once before, when he'd met Faith for the first time. As if the world were shifting and changing around him; he stood from the lock, dizzy, and ploughed forward through the doorway.

"Wait, Dana." She stopped moving immediately, spinning around to face him, the coat swirling around her. It was long and made of a heavy material, dark against the light blue scrubs. It looked good on her, he noticed, if a little big. But she was young- she'd grow, maybe. He could already tell that she wouldn't be giving it up. He smiled at her, trying to ease his own concern. "I have to do this so that the Watchers can't find you, okay? They're not going to be good to you if they do."

He'd known that the second he'd met her- the Watchers couldn't rely on broken things, and Dana was definitely broken. All that was holding her together was the Slayer, he thought, and he wasn't sure how much of the girl was even left. Quickly, and reassuring her that it was okay because she looked alarmed, he sliced his arm with the knife from his boot and watched the blood well up in the cut. And, from memory, traced the familiar sigil on her forehead.

When he finished, her smile was beatific, and she leaned forward into his personal space, breathing deeply.

"Brother." She sounded relieved, almost.

Huh. How did these things always happen to _him_, exactly?

* * *

Faith was alone again, the desert stretched out around her for miles. The sun was beating down, but she didn't feel the heat. If anything, she was cold, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The other girl was gone, had disappeared in a flash. But she'd done that before, too, and she'd always come back.

She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, ignoring the echoing sound of Sam's voice; she couldn't reach him. She couldn't find him in the desert and she wasn't even sure that he was really here. How could he be? She wasn't even really here, was she?

She could feel her hope fading- she'd been here for so long, now, hadn't she? Was this it? Was there nowhere else for her to go? Her stomach clenched as she refused the idea that this was hell. She _knew_ she wasn't dead yet; she could tell. Sometimes, she could almost feel her body; almost feel cold cotton under her fingertips and something lodged uncomfortably in her throat. Almost. So she knew she wasn't dead. Or was that part of hell, too, letting her think that there was a chance that she could get out, and never actually getting there?

It certainly wasn't heaven, anyway. Not that she really believed that heaven would take her- she was too broken. She liked the fight too much. She wasn't like her brothers, and her dad, and anytime she'd thought about it, she'd always imagined that when the end came, she'd end up in purgatory, maybe, like Fr. Jessop in the old neighbourhood used to tell her she would. _A lost soul_, he used to say. Of course, he'd meant that drugs, drinking and petty crime would be her end: she'd never told her about the rest. She'd never been able to tell anyone, not until Dean had saved her.

In the desert, she let herself fall to the ground, exhausted. It was hard, being here. Draining; reliving all the crap and trouble she'd ever been in; thinking and rethinking and over-thinking. She could rest, just for a minute, couldn't she? She was alone- there was nothing here to guard against but herself.

"Faith?" Her head snapped up and she was glad she was sitting when she saw who was speaking- standing two, maybe three, feet away, was a tall, blonde woman, dressed in jeans and a simple shirt and smiling warmly.

"Mary?" She was as familiar with the pictures of Mary Winchester as the boys were. She used to take them from Dean and imagine Mary as her mother instead of her own. She'd shared that thought with Sam, once. He'd just smiled and told her that he did it, too. The woman nodded and, still smiling, sank to the ground next to her, close enough to touch.

"I can't stay for long, but I need you to listen to me, okay?" Faith nodded, wordless. She didn't know what to say; this wasn't her mother, no matter what she might wish. "You have a job to do, Faith. You and Dana- you've been chosen for something special. I don't know what it is, but I can tell you that you're going to make it out of here, okay?"

"Okay." Could she believe that? How the hell had Mary even gotten here? Where the hell _was_ here? "I guess that's what being the Slayer is, right?" The Chosen One(s).

"Sort of, but not just being the Slayer. This is about being a Winchester, too. You and Dana need to protect my boys- they have things to do, and they need to be alive to do them." She was already doing that, so no biggie. She said as much and Mary's smile widened.

"I know, sweetie. You've always done your best." The blonde woman reached out, running her hand across the top of Faith's head and down her face to rest lightly on her cheek. The hand was warm, and Faith could feel herself blushing, embarrassed. She wasn't sure why.

"How do you know? How did you get here?"

"I know because I dreamed it, Faith. When I was alive, I was like you. I could have been a Slayer. I was never Called, but I still had the dreams, sometimes." The older woman glanced around at the sand and sky and her grin faded. "This is _her_ place; the first Slayer. When I was alive, I dreamed myself here, talking to you."

Faith couldn't explain the rush of warmth in her belly; a feeling of kinship that she hadn't felt with Buffy. Mary Winchester had been like her. She'd been like _her._

"What killed you?" She was horrified to hear her voice cracking, thick with emotion.

"The same thing that killed you, sweetie, and for the same reason. They want to stop my sons from saving the world."

"What are they?" She couldn't remember what had happened to her; something had grabbed her from behind, maybe, but when she tried, all she could recall was the scent of forest pine and snow.

"Demons. And they won't stop until they get what they're after." Mary's face was serious; calm but forceful. "You need to find a way out of here and get back to your family. They need you." Faith knew, better than anyone, that the Winchester men couldn't lose another woman to the same monster- it would destroy them.

"I will, I swear. I'll look after them for you." She'd look after them for _herself_, too. She needed them more than anyone could know.

"I know you will." The woman leaned forward, pressed a kiss to Faith's forehead the same way John always did, and the girl's eyes fluttered shut, feeling a rush of warmth washing over her. Was this what it felt like to have a mother?

When her eyes opened again, Mary Winchester was gone and the desert was empty around her, once more. For the first time since she'd woken here, what felt like years ago, Faith let herself cry- not in pain, or fear, or anger, but because there was hope swelling in her chest.


	23. What makes a change of heart

He almost couldn't believe his luck as Dana climbed into the backseat of the Impala, listening intently when he told her to keep her head down and to stay covered up by the nurse's coat. She did what she was asked without question, without comment, even, and Dean sat into the driver's seat, confident that she wouldn't be spotted. The guard at the gate waved them through and they drove straight out, past the Watchers in their rental and any prying eyes that might have been watching.

"You can sit up now." She shot up so quickly that, if she hadn't been a Slayer, Dean was sure she would have hurt herself. "If you want, you can come up front?" She'd probably been twelve the last time she was driven somewhere with someone, so he understood why her eyes lit up. He hadn't expected her to simply clamber over the seat- more gracefully than anyone should be able to manage, by right. "Seat belt on, okay?" He went without, sometimes, but Dana rolled her and snapped the belt shut. "I need to make a stop and then we need to leave town. As soon as the alarm sounds, there's gonna be people looking for you." _For us_, he thought, shaking away the tension. Watchers, he could handle. Cops, though, that would be new. Manhunt levels of new.

He pulled up outside Lorne's club and parked.

"Stay right here, okay? Don't talk to anyone and don't get out of the car." He'd heard the same words a thousand times when he was a kid- so much so that he had to bite his lip to stop himself from adding the familiar, 'Look after your brother and sister'. Dana wasn't looking at him anyway, so she didn't notice, but she nodded and Dean had to take that as agreement. She was staring out the window at the sky and he wondered how long it had been since she'd seen the stars. Or the sky, even. Hell, it could be years since she'd been out in the open air.

There was gonna be a lot of shit to deal with, for Dana. He could only hope that she could help him out with Faith and then he'd be able to figure out what to do with her. She wasn't Faith and she wasn't Angel- she needed things that he couldn't give her, because he didn't even know where to _start_, and he knew that. No matter what she said or did, he wasn't her brother and he couldn't just keep her.

Hell, she wasn't something he could even decide to _keep_- she wasn't a friggin' puppy. He scowled, annoyed with himself, and slammed the driver's door shut.

The door to Caritas had been opened again. Not busted, which was good, because Dean hadn't got the cash to replace the door for Lorne. They heard him coming, obviously, and Angel was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. He didn't look happy, exactly. It was hard to tell, anyway, because Angel only had three facial expressions, as far as Dean could tell and they were all variations on a theme.

"What the hell did you do?" The vampire growled, but Dean was so used to the John Winchester method of showing concern that he recognized it for what it was.

"Relax, dude, everything's fine. Well, not everything, exactly, because I gotta blow town, but I got the girl out of the crazy house and just in time, too. The Watchers were getting ready to make their move." They must've been, so that wasn't a lie. "I left her in the car. I figure it's too much to ask her to meet you three, her first night out."

"Not that! I knew about that- Doyle had a vision." Angel glanced behind him and Dean finally saw the short Irishman, sitting with his head in his hands.

"He okay? He looks rough." The vampire growled and Dean almost smiled. It was so easy, sometimes, to mess with men like him. Vampires. Whatever.

"He'll be fine. But he saw something-" Lorne was trying for conciliatory, but Dean could tell that the green demon was annoyed too. Well, they had reason. But so did he, dammit, because he was a grown-ass man and they'd been talking over his head as if he was a child.

"You and the new Slayer, being followed by the Watchers." Dean shook his head, starting to deny it, when he heard a scream from outside. Angel was quicker than him, using vampire speed to get to the door faster than the Hunter could. It was lucky, too, because the vampire was shot at, the second he crossed the threshold. There was no violence allowed in Caritas, according to Lorne- but the sidewalk outside was fair game.

Dean dragged the vampire back inside.

"You hit?" Behind them, Lorne and Doyle hovered, nervous.

"I'm fine. The Slayer's still in your car- they're trying to get her out. The third is the one shooting." He'd told her to stay in the car, so she was staying in the car. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

_Please don't let them kill her in the car._ He thought. He didn't know her well, but he really didn't want to be the reason she got killed by Council goons.

He was out the door, gun drawn, before even Angel could stop him. He'd gotten cocky, assuming that he wasn't followed and that the sigil would be enough to protect the Slayer, but maybe they'd been following him this whole time. Maybe they knew exactly who he was. Either way, they'd been following him and he hadn't caught the tail; too concerned with the girl in the passenger seat to watch closely for anyone tailing him. He should have known better.

His dad would have his head for this. If Dean survived long enough to tell him about it.

The element of surprise let him get a shot off before the Council's gunman and Dean ducked for cover at the tail-end of someone's ugly-ass Toyota. He hoped it wasn't Lorne's, because he kinda liked the guy. Then again, if he got it destroyed in a gunfight, that'd be an upside to the whole 'gunfight' thing.

Carefully, he crept along the road-side of the Toyota, keeping close to the ground. Two of the Watchers were shooting now- one on him and one on the doorway to Caritas, Dean thought, tracking the sounds of gunfire.

He didn't really want to kill anyone, but the Council guys weren't on the same page. Dean wasn't too worried, though. He figured Angel would knock them out as soon as they got within arm's reach. He reached the front of the car and almost cursed aloud- he could see straight into the Impala, to where Dana was curled in the driver's seat, kicking out at the Watcher who was reaching through the passenger side.

She seemed to be okay- except for the screaming- and the guy who was trying to drag her out had a broken nose and blood all over his face and shirt. Girl got him good.

They wouldn't hurt her, he thought. She was the Slayer and they needed her, and part of him even knew that they were trying to protect her from the complete and total stranger who had, seemingly, kidnapped her from the institution where, by rights, she probably still needed to be.

They'd better not fucking hurt her.

"Listen, I think you guys have the wrong idea here." In response, the wing-mirror less than a foot from his face was clipped with a bullet. "I'm not going to hurt her. I need her help." The barrage of gunshots stalled, just a fraction, and Dean saw Dana still, too, and turn to glare at him out the window. He smiled weakly, waving at her.

"Why should we believe you?" Whoever was holding cover on the doorway spoke up, loud and clear. If this didn't work, then at least Angel might get a chance to grab the guy.

"I'm not the one trying to drag an unwilling teenage girl out of a car."

He really did have a point. There was no way they couldn't admit that.

"She's a Slayer, mate, so the normal rules don't apply."

"She's a Slayer who was in a mental hospital until an hour ago! The normal rules don't apply because you shouldn't be fucking touching her _at all_." He actually heard nose-bleed guy take a step backward. An embarrassed shuffle, maybe.

"We're with the Watchers Council- she's a Slayer. If you know anything about Slayers at all, you know that means we're on her side." This was the guy with his gun trained on him, Dean thought. The third guy, wearing nerdy glasses and an honest-to-god tweed jacket, kept his weapon aimed at the club. It must be loaded with blessed iron because there had to be a reason that Angel hadn't just burst out the door, fist flying and fangs out.

Before he could decide what to do, or what to say, next, nosebleed-guy and the leader guy resumed their efforts at the Impala and Dana yelled again, sounding pained. She couldn't find the leverage to get them off her and she wouldn't get out of the car. Dean cursed, calling out that the Watchers were sacks of cowardly shit for picking on a kid. He had to take a leap of faith, here, and hope for the best. Wasn't that being a Winchester, anyway? Jumping in head-first, fingers crossed?

"Dana, come here!" She was out the driver's door and by his side in seconds, face red and eyes wild. "I'm sorry, kid, I shouldn't have told you not to move." He moved her behind him and whispered that if the shooting started again that she was to run and hide and protect herself from anyone who tried to hurt her. She'd done a good job, keeping the watchers away without hurting anyone, but god… she might need to hurt someone someday. He'd have to learn to be more specific, just in case.

Not that he'd need to for long, or anything. Because he wasn't keeping her.

"Let the girl go! There's nothing you can do to help her and we won't stop until we get her back."

"Back? You never had her. Unless you were the ones who kept her in that hell-hole for six years?"

The eerie silence was enough to tell Dean that, yeah, they'd left her there. Jesus. He hadn't expected _that_. Bastards.

"Reggie? That's not true, is it?" The tweedy one sounded properly appalled and Dean mentally gave that guy some extra points for letting his humanity show.

"Pryce, don't be an idiot." Through the car window, Dean could see Pryce lower his guns and stare, incredulous, at his colleagues. For a nerdy guy, he was a decent shot- now that no-one was shooting at him, Dean could see in the doorway of Caritas, and Angel was glowering. Glowering, and his shirt was covered in blood. Dean kinda hoped it was Angel's, because he was sure that nothing short of decapitation would keep Angel down for long, but he couldn't say the same for the other two.

"She's sixteen years old, for crying out loud!"

"She's unstable, and an unstable Slayer is a danger to everyone." Reggie sounded defensive, not apologetic, and Pryce was about as impressed by that as Dean.

"So you were going to do what, exactly? Just kill her?" Beside him, Dana tensed and Dean spared her a glance. She was breathing hard and there was something in her eyes that he'd seen in Faith a time or two- the Slayer was in the ascendency and she didn't like the idea of being put down like a dog. He wasn't sure what to do with that. What could he do? Hell, what would he do if she were Faith?

Honestly, he'd probably point her at them and let her go, but Dana wasn't Faith and he couldn't be sure what would happen.

"We can't hurt them, kid, they're human." She glared at him, the Slayer murderous, but nodded sharply. Her breathing evened out, just a little, and she seemed to relax. "They're not taking you away, okay? I swear kid I am never, ever, going to let anyone hurt you like that again."

He watched as her expression changed; fury exchanged for a small smile and the tension drained from her forehead. The smile even reached her eyes and he thought he saw _Dana_ and not the Slayer for the first time. She nodded, still smiling, and ducked her head in a move that he would have called _shy_ on anyone else.

"Dana remember." Uh… she remembered what, now? He didn't have time to wonder what it meant- there was still a standoff going on, after all, and he was starting to stiffen up, crouched as he was.

"I'll have no part in this, Reginald. No part at all." Pryce stepped away from the door and placed his weapons on the ground. "I don't know who this young man is but I have to believe that he, at least, isn't going to kill the girl."

Reggie snarled angrily and turned his own weapon to Pryce.

"You're making a mistake, Wesley. If you do this, the Council will have no choice but to let you go. You're either with us, or you're _not._ Don't do this!" They must have been friends once, Dean thought, even as Pryce shook his head and took another step away. He'd almost reached the end of the Toyota- in a few more steps, he'd have a clear view of Dana and Dean and the Hunter couldn't help but wonder at that. The guy had laid down his weapons, sure, but any real Hunter would always have a back-up.

Call him paranoid, but he trusted the guy about as much as he trusted any Watcher. Sure, Pryce hadn't been one of the guys who beat the crap out of him, but not being involved in _one_ beating did not a pattern of behaviour make.

Reggie, he was pretty sure, had been there that night. And lurky, the third guy, too. He couldn't be completely sure, though, because he'd been in considerable pain at the time.

He wondered if they even recognised him but figured not. They had no reason to believe that he'd been anything more than a scumbag when they'd first met and Faith was dead, as far as they knew.

The two Englishmen continued to argue, shouting back and forth about loyalty and doing the right thing and Dean eventually decided that he'd just have to do something himself- their attention was on one another, and he could use that, right?

It was easy, in the end. Reggie and Lurky were distracted and Dean simply crawled from the Toyota's side to the Impala, around the front of his beloved car and came up on them from behind. A few well placed punches later and there were two unconscious Watchers on the sidewalk and he'd only been a little bruised.

Dana was quick to come to his side, resting her fingers gently on his arm. He mostly ignored her, because he really wasn't sure what else he should do, though he was careful to tug her forward with him when he moved toward the last standing Watcher.

Angel and Doyle were standing in the doorway, eyeing Dana nervously. She stared back, but she didn't move to attack anyone, so Dean said nothing.

"I think this is the part where I skip town." Next time, he wouldn't be so lucky- someone must be watching out for him, like Doyle had said. Whatever they wanted him for could wait, because he had to get the Slayer out of L.A. before he could even start thinking about that shit. "What're you gonna do, Pryce?" The man looked a little shell-shocked; like he couldn't believe what he'd done. Hell, Dean could hardly believe it.

"I shall return to London directly and lodge an official complaint. This kind of savagery is what I've come to expect from our enemies, but not from the Council itself. It is most worrying." God, the guy could use some serious stick-removal. Dean was relieved, though, because the last thing he needed was a Watcher roaming the lower forty-eight, poking his nose where it wasn't welcomed.

For once, he kept his tongue in check- watchers, man. Who wanted their attention?

"I don't suppose you'd agree to allow the Slayer to accompany me?"

"Dana not go." Dean grinned and looked down at the top of her head where it rested on his shoulder. "Dana good. Dana smart. Dana need to find her faith." Something about the way she said that… faith, or Faith? Dean resisted the urge to ask, though he saw that Angel reacted, too.

"I apologise, Dana. I should have addressed you directly." Pryce took a deep breath and his gaze moved past the Slayer to the two men on the ground. "If I could ask your aid for a moment, gentlemen, I'll be happy to remove my colleagues from the scene before local law enforcement arrive." Angel and Doyle nodded slowly, obviously reluctant- Pryce must not know that they weren't, ya know, completely human. Right? "I must admit, I'm rather surprised that I didn't hit you earlier. My aim is normally quite good." Or maybe not. The only evidence of injury on Angel was a scrape across his forehead, though Dean suspected he'd taken a body-shot or two, also. In any case, the head wound accounted for the blood on his shirt, because everyone knows that head wounds bleed like crazy.

Dean let them work, watching as the two demons lifted the men into the backseat of their rental car. Shortly afterward, Pryce retrieved his weapons and climbed into the driver's seat.

"That went well, I think." Doyle said, clapping his hands together and grinning. Dean stared at him, wondering suddenly if it was just Doyle or if all seers were crazy. "Hey, in my vision, we all died in a hail of gunfire- be glad I was able to stop Angel here from vamping out and joining the fray or we'd be dead right now."

On second thought, having a seer would be kinda handy. John and Bobby would never get past the 'demon' bit, though.

"Thank you, for that." Dean even meant it- he didn't want to explain to his father how he got himself killed by watchers after he'd _sworn_ to stay away from them. Especially when it was his fault they'd followed him in the first place.

"We've gotta get on the road. You all set?" Dana had returned to the car as soon as Pryce drove off- she was curled in the passenger seat, poking the buttons on the radio, even though the car was off and the radio wasn't powered on. Angel shifted on his feet, uncomfortable.

"I think I'm going to stay here for a while, in L.A. I need to find my own place in the world again." Pretty profound, for a guy who hadn't been able to form full sentences until a couple hours previously. "Doyle's giving me a place to stay for a few days, until I find somewhere."

Dean just nodded, letting the choked feeling in his throat die off before speaking.

"That's cool, man. You know how to get in touch if you need us. Don't be a stranger, okay?" He'd miss the guy- he'd actually gotten used to having him around.

It'd be nice to be able to clean the paint off the windows in the car, though, and he supposed that a crazy Slayer and a near-crazy vampire in the same car was probably asking a bit much of both of them.

Angel nodded and stuck out his hand, awkwardly; as if he wasn't sure what he should be doing. Doyle, watching them, groaned loudly.

"God save us from macho men- give him a hug for Christ's sake!" Which 'him' he meant was unclear, but Angel did as he was told regardless, reaching forward and pulling Dean into a solid, back-thumping, embrace.

"I can't ever thank you enough for what you've done for me. If you ever need anything, I'm there. No questions." The vampire spoke quietly, so only Dean could hear, and the Hunter blushed.

"It was nothing, man. You take care of yourself, okay?" They separated and Dean was embarrassed to note that his voice was thick and he was actually fucking _blushing_. Like he'd never got a compliment before or something. "Take care of my boy, Doyle, or I know who to come looking for." Dean grinned, shaking off a wave of sadness, and shook the half-demons hand. "Tell Lorne that I'm sorry for getting his place involved in a shootout." The other seer had disappeared inside before the watcher could get a good look at him- safer for all concerned.

He took a breath, about to say something he'd probably regret later, when the sound of sirens cut through the night air.

"That's my cue. See ya, boys."


	24. What makes an introduction

Disclaimer: I don't own either SPN or BTVS. *Tears for me*

A/N: Full steam ahead!

* * *

Sam was waiting, again. Anxious, again. There was an unsettled _something_ in his stomach and he was almost certain that he was going to vomit. His dad and Bobby were conferring on the back porch, talking in low tones so Sam couldn't hear them. He didn't want to hear, anyway. They'd only had three topics of conversation since Dean had called, telling them all that it was a demon who'd put Faith in a coma, and those three topics were how to track it, how to catch it and how to kill it.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Sometimes, there was punching.

So Sam was just waiting for his brother. He was sick of their fighting and they wouldn't say anything good in front of him anyway, like he was a civilian kid who'd just walked in off the playground.

Dean wasn't far away- he'd called, earlier, to say he was an hour out. When Dean got there, Sam was sure he'd be filled in on what the hell was going on, and how they were planning on getting Faith to wake the hell up already.

He'd already made up the two twin beds in the last bedroom- one for Dana, who was with Dean, and one for Faith, for when she woke up. He kinda hoped that nobody noticed that, though, because Dean already made fun of him for being Suzy Homemaker anywhere they stopped for longer than a few days.

The Impala pulled up outside just as the last of the daylight was fading and Sam yelled out to his father, excited.

"Dean's here!" He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Dean until he pulled open the front door and saw his brother clambering out of the car. He was moving like an old man, stiff and inflexible. Sam knew it meant that he hadn't moved from the driver's seat for at least six hours.

Sam threw himself at his brother and was immediately wrapped in a strong hug. It had only been three days, but it already felt like a lifetime.

No wonder, really, with Bobby and John seemingly determined to drive him freaking insane. He was so relieved to have Dean back, just for the break that his brother's presence would provide.

"Sammy, this is Dana. Dana, this is my little brother Sam." The girl was tall, slender, dark haired and dark eyed, and she held herself back, curling her shoulders in on herself. There were circles like bruises under her eyes and scratches on what he could see of her forearms. She met his gaze but said nothing, and Sam got the faintest impression that she had already decided that she didn't like him.

Which was completely not fair. What had Dean been telling her?

"Dana doesn't say much," Dean added, "but I'm sure you two will get along just fine." Sam stepped back, watching carefully as the Slayer followed Dean up the steps and into the house. She'd left the passenger door of the Impala wide open and Sam closed it, scowling, before jogging after them.

When he got back inside, Dana was standing at Dean's side, almost like his shadow- like Angel had been, at the start, maybe- and facing off against a shouting John Winchester.

Well, 'facing off' might have been an exaggeration, Sam thought, as he realized that the girl was utterly ignoring the curious Hunter and was instead staring out the window into the backyard, wearing an unreadable expression.

"I'm talking to you, girl! What the hell did you come here for if you're not going to help?!" Sam saw his brother's eyes roll and he wondered if their father had even waited to be introduced before trying to jump straight in to an action plan.

"Dana find Faith." She didn't look at any of them, but her expression hadn't changed anyway. Whatever she was thinking about, it wasn't showing.

"Dana needs to get some sleep before she goes finding anything. Come on, kid. Let's get you washed up and ready for some zzzs." Dean glared at his father when John stepped in his path, intending to stop their progress, and the elder Hunter flushed and stepped away again. Sam thought- though he couldn't be certain, because it was certainly unusual as hell- that he even heard his dad apologize. Quietly, of course.

Sam followed them, instead, watching as Dean led the girl to the bathroom and instructed her to wash her teeth and to go the toilet and that he'd be waiting right outside the door. He didn't close the door all the way, either, leaving it open just a crack so they could hear everything that happened inside.

"Heya Sammy. How's Faith?"

"No change." No change was probably good news at this point, because it meant she hadn't slipped any further away from them. "What did she mean, she's going to find Faith?" Dean shrugged, nonchalant, but Sam knew his brother well and he could just tell that Dean had an idea what it meant. "When I was in her dream, man, I couldn't find her. The first Slayer was too strong for me… but maybe another Slayer could do it?" They had the dream-root, after all. Maybe it would be different for a Slayer, in Faith's head.

"I don't know, man…" Dean glanced back toward the bathroom door, considering, "it's up to Dana. I'm not gonna make her do anything she doesn't wanna do."

Sam wasn't sure what had happened to Dana- Bobby and John refused to tell him, even though he knew that she'd been in a mad house and she'd been there since she was a kid, so something must have happened. But Dean, refusing to push her to help _Faith_, when Faith was one of the most important people in his world?

Sam swallowed hard, not wanting to think about it. There was nothing he could do to fix it, any of it, so what was the point in dwelling? Yeah. As if that ever worked for him before.

"So how are we going to get Faith back?" Dean must have heard the crack in his voice because his brother turned back to him, concerned.

"Dana knows how, Sammy. I don't know how she knows and I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but she knows what she needs to do." He sounded sure, but Sam couldn't see how he could be. Dean had been the one who called home, telling Bobby that the new Slayer was cracked. How could he know that she even knew what she was saying? How could he trust someone that he'd only just met?

Sam didn't like it, but he'd give her a chance. He'd try anything if it meant getting Faith out of that cold, empty, desert. The house wasn't cold, but Sam shivered, wrapping his arms around himself to stop the shaking.

Dean, turned back to the bathroom once again, didn't notice. Sam couldn't just stand there- not when he didn't know what they were waiting for- so he just walked away, back down the stairs to where the other Hunters were still arguing.

"Do you two ever stop fighting?" He muttered, rolling his eyes and walking past their sentry positions at the foot of the stairs. "You're like an old married couple." Not that Sam knew many old married couples for comparison, but it sounded like something Dean would say, so he said it anyway.

Besides, it made them pause for a second and his dad complained that he was growing a smart mouth, just like his brother. As if. Dean rarely spoke back to dad, even when he should- this whole coma thing would never have happened if Dean hadn't let Dad send them off alone.

They should have been there, too, and then maybe Faith would never have been hurt and there wouldn't be a strange girl upstairs, getting ready to take her place.

He clamped down on that thought, refusing to let it grow. Dana was _not_ taking Faith's place- even if Dean was already treating her like family and looking out for her the way he usually did for Faith and Sam. Dad wouldn't let her stay, anyway, and she was crazy. Not normal crazy, but crazy-crazy, and everyone knew that a crazy Hunter was a liability on a Hunt. The girl would do her thing and wake Faith and then she'd be gone, back to the nut house where she belonged.

He knew he was being irrational- hell, he could feel the frustration bubbling up inside and he couldn't help but resent the girl that could supposedly fix everything when he hadn't managed to fix anything. He'd been inside Faith's friggin' head and he hadn't even been able to find her, and suddenly this kid comes out of nowhere and says she can make it all better? How? She didn't even _know_ Faith. Or Dean, either.

Angry with himself, Sam slammed through the kitchen and out the back door, stomping his feet and relishing the _thump_ when the door swung shut. He had to get a grip- Dean would kick his ass if he knew what Sam was thinking.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring out over the backyard, but eventually the door swung open and Dean came to stand next to him.

"What's eating you, Sammy? You look like shit." True, and Sam could hardly deny it. He hadn't been sleeping and it was starting to show on his face. Even his grades were suffering, not that any of his family would appreciate that he'd gotten an A minus on his last quiz.

"I miss Faith." He blurted out, reddening as he heard the words. He sounded like a child, certainly not like a grown man. Dean didn't tease him about it, though. In fact, Dean threw one arm over his shoulder and pulled him into a half-hug, letting Sam rest his head on Dean's shoulder. Sam was sure that he'd be taller than his brother one day- even John said so- but for now, he could rest there comfortably and he was tired enough that he wasn't even embarrassed. "She's all alone in that stupid desert and I couldn't find her."

"It's okay Sammy, you did your best. I know that and Dad knows that, and you should know that too." Dean even managed to sound convinced, but Sam wasn't. He was supposed to be the smart one. There had to be something that he'd missed. How could he have been _in her head_ and not be able to find her? It didn't make any sense.

"I should have been there, Dean, I'm so sorry. I should have been there with you, but I wanted to go to school and do a stupid presentation and Faith could _die_ and I wasn't there to stop it and-" He cut himself off, pulling back the words that were threatening to spill out. Dean tugged him closer, resting his other hand in Sam's hair and patting his head like he was five years old again.

"There's nothing you could have done, Sammy. These are demons we're dealing with- we're lucky that we have any kind of chance to get Faith back at all." Dean was shaking, too, and Sam wondered if his brother was actually crying. He hadn't seen Dean cry in years. "And you know what? I'm glad you weren't there, so that you didn't have to see that shit. I can't close my eyes without seeing her just laying there, and I'm happy, every second of every day, that you weren't with me to see it too."

Dean, for his part, felt overwhelmed. He hadn't realized that Sam was carrying all that guilt around. Hell, he'd never even thought about it. Faith was the injured one; she was the one who needed help right now. Dean had just kind of assumed that Sam would be okay with everything. It's not like there was even a reason for him to feel guilty- there was nothing he could have done, and there had been no reason to think that they'd even needed him on the hunt in the first place.

But he supposed he should have known, because Sam's reaction was John Winchester 101. All that was missing was the vat of whiskey. Dean pulled his brother closer, tucking the boy's head under his chin and doing his best to reassure him.

After all, it was _Dean's_ fault that Faith got hurt and that was why he was so determined to fix it. She had to wake up, and she would, even if it was the last thing Dean ever did. He was her big brother- it was his job to protect her, and he'd made her a promise once. He'd let her down this time and he had to fix that. Somehow. That wasn't on Sam- it had never been on Sam.

He told the boy that, willfully ignoring the crack in his own voice, and hoping that Sam would actually listen.

He wasn't sure how long they stood there- Sammy was clinging to him like a limpet, though Dean had to ignore the voice in his head reminding him that Sam was also holding him upright. It had been a long drive, after all, and he was friggin' tired. Dana wasn't the only one who needed some sleep. He was opening his mouth to ask if Sam was feeling any better when a shout from inside, followed by a loud crash, had the brothers jumping apart.

Sam reacted first, dragging open the door and racing inside, alarmed.

"What's happening? What's going on?" John was on the ground, at the foot of the stairs, and he had his weapon drawn. Bobby did, too, and they were aiming up the stairs, faces grim and focused.

Dean couldn't see, but he was pretty sure what they were aiming at. Or not what, exactly, but who.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bobby startled, but his father actually jumped, and Dean cursed himself- he shouldn't have shouted, because his dad had an itchy trigger finger.

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy. The Slayer just pushed me down the friggin' stairs." John climbed to his feet slowly, but Dean could tell just by looking that there was nothing broken.

"And what were you doing on the stairs? I thought I told you to leave her the hell alone!" If anything, Dean's tone was more insubordinate than before and he could see the irritation lighting in his father's eyes. "Jesus, dad, give the kid a break." Dean stepped around him, brushing off the hand that grabbed at his shoulder, and took the stairs two at a time.

"I just wanted to take a leak."

Sam had never seen his father defeated, but he thought this might be it- he was pale despite his beard, shoulders slumped and yeah, he looked angry, but he looked… something. Sad or something. Sam couldn't pin it.

"Don't worry, Dad, Dean won't be mad." John glanced over at him, almost bemused, before shaking his head slightly and smiling. Just a bit. Sam couldn't really read that, either.

"You Winchesters and your friggin' drama are gonna be the death of me."


	25. What makes Fear

Disclaimer: I don't own either SPN or BTVS. Thanks for asking.

A/N: Onwards!

* * *

"Dana? You okay?" He remembered to pitch his voice low, like she liked it, though he knew she must have heard the shouting. "Where are you hiding, kid?"

"Dana here." She was crouched by the window in the third, and smallest, bedroom. Her things, such that they were, rested on the bed, but Dean could see that she had found a knife somewhere- one with a long, serrated blade. There was no blood on it, which was good. But still, knife. He could kind of understand his father's freak out if he'd spotted the knife-wielding crazy Slayer at the top of the stairs. Hell, if she'd glared at John the way she was glaring at Dean now, he was surprised she hadn't gotten shot. "Dana not like hairy John."

Okay, so, it would be wrong to laugh when she looked so upset, but _damn_. Hairy John.

"That's okay sweetheart. He's a dickhead sometimes, but he won't hurt you."

"Promise?" She liked making him promise things. Somehow, whatever she knew of Faith told her that he would never break a promise. He wasn't sure he liked her believing that, but it was friggin' helpful, all the same.

"Yeah, I promise." He crossed the room slowly and lowered himself into seated beside her, resting his back against the wall. He made sure that she had a clear path across the room. She liked being able to see out the doorways and windows.

_It hadn't been an easy trip across country. They'd had to stop on the first day outside Vegas so that Dean could sleep and Dana had slept too, he was sure. It was when they'd been getting ready to leave again, just as the sun was setting, that the party started. _

_He'd been putting their stuff in the Impala (their stuff, because he'd bought her some t-shirts and a toothbrush, and she'd spent an hour poking the bristles with her fingers), parked outside their motel room door, when he looked up to see her racing past him. She was barefoot again and barely dressed- a shirt and a pair of shorts- but he'd tied her hair back so she didn't look like that chick from that Japanese horror movie anymore. _

_And she'd found a machete. He dropped everything and raced after her, unthinking. Crawford's words echoed in his head 'She's dangerous' and he wished he'd had a chance to read her file already. He didn't even dare to call her name because he couldn't risk anyone identifying her- there had been a news report about the escape just as he'd been leaving L.A and they may have crossed state lines but shit like that traveled. _

_She was fast, but he tracked her easily because he could hear screaming. Human screaming. Two big guys in the dark shadows behind the motel, on their knees and begging by the time he got there. Both were bleeding from cuts on their arms and Dana held her machete close as she considered their faces. _

_He got the distinct impression that she was trying to decide which one to go for first._

"_What's going on, Dee?" She liked it when he called her Dee, he thought. At least, she'd smiled once when he did and she hadn't asked him to stop yet. "Who are these guys?"_

"_Bad men." Arms in the air and their expressions pained, Dean didn't think they looked so bad. Big, tattooed and scary-looking, sure, but half the people he knew looked rougher._

"_You sure?" He tried to keep his voice calm as he edged toward her, wondering how far she'd trust him. She'd been perfectly willing to do anything he'd asked of her so far, but he couldn't trust that to continue. _

_He'd been so focused on Dana that he hadn't seen the man by the dumpster, curled up in on himself and shivering. But he saw him when she pointed; using her machete to aim at him. Dean was glad that the guy wasn't looking up, because the blade was dripping blood in the half-light. _

"_Hey! Are you okay over there? What the hell were you two doing?" The two guys didn't answer, so Dean took a leaf from Dana's book and grabbed the guy on the right by his throat, making sure to keep the man's body between him and the other guy. The last thing he wanted was to be beaten on by two humans in a dirty parking lot. "I asked you a question. What the hell were you doing?"_

"_We weren't doing nothing- that punk kid started something he wasn't gonna finish and we were teaching him a lesson." Up close, Dean could see that Dana's cuts were precise and careful. Not deep, but painful. They were already clotting. "Until your bitch came over and interrupted." The guy might be talking tough, but Dean could see the fear in his eyes. Hell, he was close enough to smell the sweat, too. _

"_Shut the hell up." Dean released him, pushing him away as he did and the guy fell to the ground, sprawling at his feet. "Don't move, either of you." Whatever Dana had done before he'd caught up to her was enough, he hoped, to keep them in place and make them behave. He wasn't armed and it wasn't like he could call the cops and have them arrested. _

_He glanced back at Dana, but she was watching the two men. No, not watching. Waiting, ready to pounce. Her whole body was tensed and the blade in her hand was drawn back, prepared for a strike. Jesus._

_The civilian, though… he had to check on that guy and get him the hell out of there, so they could leave. He walked in a wide half-circle around Dana's prey and dropped to his knees beside their victim._

"_Dude, are you okay?" The guy was maybe three, four years older than Dean, skinny and tall, with a shaved head. His clothes and skin were dark, but Dean could tell that both were equally ripped. Whatever the hell had been going on, the guy had been taking a serious beating. "What's your name?"_

"_Alan." He whispered it, but Dean heard. Alan didn't look up. _

"_Do you think you can stand, Alan?" He offered his hands to pull the guy to standing, but before the stranger could reach out, something hit Dean hard on the head and he crashed forward, landing heavily on the already-injured man. _

_Whatever happened next, Dean couldn't be sure. He blacked out, he was certain, because next thing he knew, Alan was shouting in his ear and Dana was crouched over him, her fingers on his forehead. _

"_Is he okay?" The guy sounded frantic, "What the hell are we gonna do? Jesus, this shit can't be real." Dean blinked, once, twice, and heaved himself upright. _

"_The fucking punk hit me!" He grabbed Alan's outstretched arm to steady himself as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. It took him a few seconds to realize what he was seeing- Dana and Alan were either side of him, crouched, and leaving him a perfect view of his attacker._

_The guy lay in a pool of blood, a red gash open across his throat. His friend was two paces further away, shaking and holding the stump of one hand with the other. He may have been saying something, but Dean couldn't hear it. _

As he sat in the room in Billings with Dana, he remembered the scent of blood in the air, and how he'd helped Alan to his feet in the end. The other man hadn't said much, and they'd gone their separate ways without exchanging any details. Whoever Alan was, and whoever those other guys were, Dean didn't want to know. He'd hustled Dana back to the car, locked up and handed his keys back to motel reception without batting an eye.

He'd seen the second, now one-handed, guy stumbled into view in his rear-view mirror just as the Impala roared out of the parking lot. He'd been careful not to speed away; not to bring any more attention to them than necessary, even when the blue-and-whites screamed past them on the highway.

Dean was pretty sure that getting out of Arizona had been a miracle- every radio station in the state was reporting the news of the incident on the hour, every hour. And he still didn't know what to say to Dana about it- he'd said nothing at the time, just told her to get in the car.

"He's not a bad man. Bobby neither. They hunt monsters, just like Faith."

"Warrior of the People." It wasn't a question, not really, but Dean agreed with her anyway. Warrior of the People was another name for Slayer, he was pretty sure, but it was close enough as far as he was concerned. "Not bad man." He felt relieved, just a bit, that she was repeating the words. It meant, he thought, that she believed him. Or at least, that she was prepared to listen, because Dean certainly couldn't stop her if she decided to take her knife to his father. Or Bobby. Or Sam, for Christ's sakes.

Bad men. Jesus.

He sat there for a while, waiting for her body to relax even a fraction. It didn't take long- she must have believed him.

"You need to get some sleep, kiddo. It's been a long drive." The girl hadn't slept since the motel- Dean had only stopped for gas afterward, not for sleeping and Dana had seemed reluctant to sleep in the car. She'd spent the hours in silence, staring out the window with wide, amazed, eyes.

She stood when Dean did and watched as he pulled back the covers on the bed.

"Climb in and get some sleep." She did as she was told, curling up on her side and dragging the duvet over her body until all he could see of her was the very top of her head. "I'll be back soon, okay?" The shower was calling his name, but he had every intention of returning and setting up camp on the floor in her room.

He left the curtains open so she could see the sky if she wanted, but he pulled the door closed when he left and took his time going down the stairs.

The remainder of his family- John, Bobby and Sam- were sitting at the cluttered dining table, waiting.

"What the hell was that, son?" His dad seemed to have calmed down, but Dean was sure he'd hear about it at some point. He might be a grown man, but his father hadn't accepted it yet- there'd be extra laps to pay for talking back, no question.

"That… that was Dana." Dean collapsed into the fourth chair at the table and reached for his father's beer. Amazingly, John didn't snatch it back, just jerked his head at Sam to fetch him another. Even more amazingly, Sam went to get it without complaining. "She's okay now, but you should probably give her some time to get used to you."

Bobby snorted, muttering something about understatements, but Dean ignored him. He was too tired for this shit. He just wanted to debrief and get some sleep.

Of course, that meant telling his father what he'd gotten up to in L.A. He wondered whether it would be the three demon allies in the bar or the fight with the watchers that would finally kill the old man off, because Dean was pretty sure that either piece of news would give him an aneurysm. And that wasn't even the worst of it, as far as Dean was concerned.

"She thinks she has a way to wake Faith up, right Dean?" Dammit, the kid sounded pretty hopeful. That was better than snot-nosed crying, at least.

"Yeah, she does. But… I learned a few other things, too, and if they're true, then there's something big coming." He rubbed his hand over his face, wondering where to start, "and we're right in the center of the shitstorm." He drained the beer in one long drag and then, taking a deep breath, started to relate everything that he'd learned in California.

It took about an hour, with minimal interruptions. Normally, Bobby and John would have been all about questions and interrupting, but Dean was dog-tired and it was written all over his face so they just let him talk.

He didn't tell them what happened at the motel, because there was nothing to be gained from having everyone afraid of the girl. Hell, Dean wasn't in a position to judge, was he? It was only blind luck that Dana hadn't decided that he was a bad man, too. Whatever. Something to worry about some other time. He copped to everything else, anyway, including getting followed by the Watchers.

"I've gotta get some sleep. Can I leave this with you?" John just nodded, shell-shocked. He'd worked his way through more than one beer as Dean had talked and there was a gleam in his eyes that just _might_ be tears, but Dean wouldn't swear to it. He walked away from the table and climbed the stairs slowly, his head foggy. He shouldn't have had the beer, he thought, dragging sleeping bag and pillow from the second bedroom into Dana's room. If she woke when he opened the door, she didn't say anything, and he murmured quietly that she wasn't to worry, it was just him.

When he finally slept, across the door as a physical barrier between the world and the mad Slayer, (or between the mad Slayer and the world, maybe) his dreams were troubled.


	26. What makes a Goodbye

Disclaimer: Don't own things, thanks for asking.

* * *

Dana woke suddenly, not long after the sun set. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and to remember who the man sleeping in the room with her was. It rushed back to her all at once, while she was standing over him, blade in hand. Her grip slackened, just a little.

Dean. He was a good man. A good brother. Faith's brother, Dean, who had come for her in the awful place. Dana had done what she was told and now she was away from there; someplace different. Her sister had been right and Dana smiled, remembering.

The man, Dean, was blocking the door, so Dana went to the window. It was easy to open, so she didn't have to break it. That was good, because breaking things was bad and got her in trouble. But it was night time, and that meant it was time for her to hunt, so she would have broken it if she'd had to.

The night air was cold and she shivered, but she ignored the feeling, climbing out onto the window ledge before dropping easily onto the ground below. The ground was hard and damp, but she didn't mind. She remembered colder days in other places, fighting and bleeding and dying alone in the cold. She thumbed the blade, considering. It was sharp and clean; well-cared for. Warriors of the People always kept their weapons clean and sharp. She remembered that.

She stood quietly in the shadows, waiting. Something inside stretched out, telling her where to hunt; where to look for the bad men. The monsters. There weren't many, not in this place, but there was something… ah. Dana grinned and broke into a run, excited. The hunt was on and her blood was singing in her veins.

* * *

The sky was dark with proper night when Buffy crossed Restfield cemetery. Her job there was done for the night- one formerly-known-as-Danny-Carton was dust in the wind, having never made it out of his grave. She liked it when they made it easy for her, though she almost missed the fight. With the town on demonic lockdown before the Mayor made his big debut, there were few real challenges in the past weeks.

Not that she was complaining, really, but a nice fight now and then would keep her in shape and stop Giles from forcing hours and hours of drills after school instead.

It's not her fault that the forces of evil were marshalling behind the stupid mayor, anyway, so it wasn't fair that she was the one being punished.

"Buffy?" She spun around, taken by surprise, and her whole body was tensed, ready for a fight. She didn't relax when she realized it was Angel standing there, watching her. He was almost worse- a fight she could handle. Angel, she could not. History had thought them that her handling him led to bad places.

"Angel?" She would be embarrassed later at how little-girl-ish her voice sounded. "You're back? You're okay?" She'd imagined this conversation a thousand times but in all of her imaginings, she'd been brave enough to hug him. Standing there, she just about managed to lower her stake.

"Yeah, I'm… better. I was going to call but I thought I should come see you in person."

"Good. That's… good." She had a thousand questions, but none of them came out. He looked different. Good. Strong. He was wearing blue jeans, which was weird, and boots that she would never in a million years have said he'd wear, but he looked good. "You look good." Oh god, someone please try to kill her now.

"So do you." At least he seemed as awkward as she felt.

"I'm so sorry." And there it was, the crying and blubbering portion of their reunion. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know what else to do and I should have killed him, I should have, because what happened was a thousand times worse and it was my fault, I know, but I'm so sorry." She couldn't look at him, dropping her stare to the ground and wrapping her arms around her middle to hold herself together.

"It's okay, Buffy. Please don't blame yourself. You did what you had to do and yeah, it wasn't so great there for a while, but everything is okay now." Was it? Really? How could it ever be? He'd been in hell, and she'd sent him there. She'd killed him, and he'd gone to hell for who-knows-how-long and come back a crazy, feral version of himself. But he was looking at her like he used to- eyes full of compassion and awe and, oh god, she was so relieved to see him for herself.

Faith had kept her informed, more or less, but she hadn't spoken to any of the Winchesters since the day Faith 'died' and Dean wasn't answering her calls.

"Is Faith okay?" She didn't mean to blurt it out. Really, she knew they had more to talk about; more to work through than they'd even scratched the surface of, but… god, that was hard.

"She's still in a coma." And, oh god, that was hard too. She'd _known_, of course, but without any word, she'd been able to imagine that her sister-Slayer was up and kicking.

It was too much, too quickly, and Buffy let her body collapse against the nearest headstone, the cold stone holding her upright.

"Is she going to wake up?" Angel shrugged slowly, taking a few steps forward to sit on the headstone next to hers.

"Dean has a plan, so… we'll see how that goes. His plans don't always work out the way he wants them to. I'm sure he'll call when something changes." The way he said it, something in his voice told her that he wouldn't be there to see it himself.

"You're not staying with him anymore?" 'Staying with' sounded much better than 'following him around', she thought. Angel winced, hearing what she hadn't said.

"No. I don't need to anymore, now that I'm lucid again." He sounded embarrassed, which the Slayer really couldn't understand. In a few, short, months, he'd returned to the guy he'd been before hell- more or less. What else could he have expected from himself? She said as much, her tone tainted with amazement, and if Angel could have, he would have blushed. She was sure of it.

They talked for a while, quietly exchanging stories, until it got easier to sit there next to him; to see him there, whole and unharmed and not-Angelus. It wouldn't ever be easy, maybe, but it was _easier_. He told her about hunting Shapeshifters with the Winchesters in the forests of Wyoming and she filled him in on the Mayor's plan for ascension.

"You need backup? I'll stay until it's over and I can call the Hunters in, too, if you think you need them." And there it was… the difference in him, clear as day, and Buffy felt inexplicably sad.

Angel was willing to call for help.

He had someone- not her- that he trusted to back him up; to come if he asked. She smiled, sadly, and shook her head.

"I don't know anything yet. He's planning to ascend, sure, but the wheres and whens are iffy. I can't call in Hunters and have them hanging around the Hellmouth for months, waiting." He nodded; tacit agreement that Hunters weren't exactly known for their patience. Buffy didn't want them on her turf, anyway. Sure, Faith was cool and Dean seemed nice the few times she'd talked to him, but that changed nothing. For every Winchester, there was a Cain, and she wasn't willing to take that risk.

"I'll be in L.A. for a while, so call me when you know." He handed her a tiny slip of paper with a phone number scrawled on it in neat, precise numbers.

"You have a cell phone?" Seriously? She wasn't even sure Angel knew those existed. _She_ didn't even have a cell phone! That was just not cool.

"Dean insisted." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and showed her- top of the line model, sleek and black and _so pretty_ and it was stupid to be jealous of a phone, right? Even though Angel was handling the phone like it was precious and it got tucked back into his pocket carefully.

"I'm sure he can be pretty insistent." Yeah, she sounded jealous, and not of the stupid phone.

"He's a good guy, Buffy, and I owe him more than I can say." Well, didn't that just take her jealousy and make it petty? Buffy flushed, embarrassed.

"I know. I owe him, too." After all, it _was_ her fault and even if Angel didn't blame her, she wasn't going to stop blaming herself anytime soon.

"I should go. Call me, when you need me." He stood and they hugged, but it was awkward and when she said goodbye, it felt like actual _goodbye_; like a weight had been lifted and she was relieved in a way she hadn't thought she would be. She'd never imagined that she would be able to breathe easier when he was gone; that knowing he was okay would be great, but that watching him walk away wouldn't hurt to her core.

Huh. Maybe she was growing up, like her mom had told her would happen someday.

Or maybe, just maybe, running someone through with a sword and sending him to hell for months until he came back crazy and left town as soon as he could manage was actually the death-knoll of a relationship. Who'd have thought it?

Angel watched her walk away, feeling the same pang of love and heartbreak that he always felt around her. She'd been his reason for living; his reason for crawling his way back into society and into the good fight… but there was too much between them, now. Maybe if he hadn't left town with the Hunters, he'd have been able to find his way back to her, but he was glad he hadn't. He'd spent months watching the Winchesters and they were young and bright and vibrant and had so much to give to the world, and Buffy was just like them.

She was a Slayer, true, but he'd seen first hand what that meant: a hospital bed and a ring of bruises around your neck. It meant a sword through the chest because that was the right thing to do. He wasn't going to do that to her again- she was young and she'd recover and go on to love someone else; someone who would be able to love her back without the risk of death and dismemberment hanging over them.

He wasn't sure _he_ would, but he could see it in her, now, as she walked away. He could smell her relief and it broke his heart and mended it, all at once.

* * *

The sky was just brightening as she approached the house. It was quiet inside and she could hear the heartbeats and even breaths of deep sleep. The window was still open and she climbed up to it quickly, dropping inside on silent feet. She was cold and dirty, but her blood had calmed and her head felt fresher; cleaner. She made sure to clean her blade carefully, wiping it on her shirt and noting that it would need to be sharpened again.

She didn't notice when Dean woke but when she turned, she saw him watching her, eyes wide.

"What the hell have you been doing?" He was whispering, but he sounded angry. The anger poked at her; made her wince and took some of the clean away. Why would he be angry?

"Dana hunt." She hunted. Slayers hunt. He should know that. Faith had said he would. Dana thought he did.

"Dee…" His breathing turned heavier and his heart was beating faster. "Please don't leave without telling me, okay? I don't want you to get hurt."

"Dana strong. Dana hunt the bad things." She felt confused; it had been clear, hadn't it? She remembered running and fighting and not being confused. She wasn't in the awful place anymore and she was strong. Dana would hunt.

"I know, kid. I just worry, is all." He stood up, reaching across the small room and taking the blade from her hand. "This'll need to be sharpened." She smiled, happy because he knew that too. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Dean let her close the bathroom door this time, but he sat outside all the same, too stunned to leave her alone. The shower was running inside and he hoped that she'd remembered to take off her clothes this time- the first time she'd showered, she'd kept the hospital scrubs on.

And Jesus H., he hoped she'd been listening when he told her to wash her face, where four precise lines of dried blood had been streaked like war paint. Her clothes were destroyed, her legs were covered in muck and blood and he was sure that at least some of it was hers, but most of it wasn't and he'd have to clean it up before John or Bobby saw.

He'd been listening when Sam had described the First Slayer, but he hadn't really been able to get a picture of her in his head. Until now. Now, he was pretty sure he knew exactly what his brother had seen and Sam was right: she was fucking terrifying.


End file.
